A Twisted Justice
by Awen1923
Summary: Sequel to A Face from the Past. Monastario is taken captive by a group of bandits who wish him dead and it falls to Zorro to find and rescue the Commandante before his blood is spilled. AU
1. Chapter 1

**A Twisted Justice** (sequel to A Face from the Past)

**Disclaimer: This story was written simply for pleasure. These characters do not belong to me.**

* * *

A westerly wind brought the scent of the ocean, a salty smell that lingered among the pines and redwood. The sun was just beginning to cross the horizon and the east was alight with mauve and gold, the clouds a distant visage of flame and sea. Dust trailed and settled along the road, mixing with the dew and laying heavy among the thin branches and long grass that bordered the old road. 

The morning was warm, though the wind spoke of the approaching fall. It was a beautiful dawn, but the five men who traveled the road cared little of beauty. They were rough men, dressed in light clothing that lay tattered and stained on their thin bodies. The men rode silently, their faces cold and hard. Time and work had carved deep etches into their tanned skin and they looked older than their thirty and forty odd years. Swords hung at their sides, old weapons that were dented and beginning to rust, and a revolver sat in the waist band of two of the men.

They spoke little as they rode. Each man knew what was to be done and they saw little need in discussing it. The first rider halted his chestnut and raised a closed fist. His companions surrounded him, their faces set as though in stone, frowns carved indelibly on their once handsome features. "We shall wait here," the man commanded. "We strike quickly and hard. Remember…I want Monastario, do not kill him. He will pay for what he has done. We will see to it."

The grim figures nodded in agreement and dismounted. Monastario had beaten and broken these men, had imprisoned them and had threatened their lives, and now they were going to even the debt. The Capitán would know what it means to suffer, to barely survive, holding on by a thin thread when the world seemed a dark and unforgiving place. These men would make Monastario feel the hollow pain of loss, the sharp sting of defeat, and then the stillness of death.

A twig snapped and the five figures froze. The tallest man, the one who had spoken, moved first. He grabbed the reigns of his horse and moved off the road, into the brush and trees. He tied his horse loosely and smiled as he saw his companions doing the same. The man drew his pistol and moved forward, his light shoes making little noise on the dew covered grass. The others had followed him and were fanning out along the road.

Capitán Monastario and two other soldiers rode easily. The morning was pleasant and the Commandante was in no hurry to return to the Pueblo de los Angeles. He had been unsuccessful in Monterey but he had pushed that thought out of his head as he rode. His horse walked gently and the swaying motion eased the tension from the military man's shoulders. He had requested a transfer from this god-forsaken land but was refused. Monastario shifted his weight and turned his face to the east, the warm sun spilled across his bearded features and he closed his eyes a moment, taking in the little comfort he could before returning to his duties.

Monastario's world flared into a brilliant shade of red as pain lanced through his shoulder. The force of the bullet caught and lifted him from the saddle and he hung a moment, suspended in time and place, before he crashed painfully into the hard road. His head caught the ground and blackness invaded the red. Monastario was aware of shouting and the distinct sound of steel on steel before he succumbed to the darkness. He did not see one of his soldiers fall dead from his horse and the other bloodied and bruised, his body limp over his horse's neck, escape down the road, his mare running terrified from the sounds and the smell of blood.

Monastario woke to a deep throbbing pain behind his eyes and a steady ache in his left shoulder. He shifted his body and opened his eyes, but immediately regretted the motion when pain and nausea coursed through his system. He squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught and moaned slightly, his teeth clenched against the wave of pain that crashed against his nerves. The sun glared down at him and he could see the bright glow behind his shut lids. He turned against the intruding light and took several deep breaths. _What happened? _Monastario took a deep breath to voice his question but an unfamiliar voice stopped the motion.

"He is awake, Felipe." A boot sunk into his leg and Monastario opened his eyes slowly, the pain from the kick barely noticeable through the pounding in his head and shoulder. Once his eyes focused, Monastario found himself lying beneath a small tree. Five men surrounded him, their dirty and tanned faces glaring down at him. He didn't recognize any of them, but they were no different from the hundreds of other poor farmers he had seen. Monastario could feel their hate for him and for a brief moment he wondered what he had done to them.

The tallest man moved forward and placed a booted foot on Monastario's chest. "If you run, we will kill you."

Monastario glared at the men and he found his voice, thankful it didn't sound as weak as he felt, "What do you want with me?"

"Oh…we just want to have a little fun. You see, we owe you and decided it was time to pay the debt." The wild look in the man's deep brown eyes frightened Monastario and he leaned further into the tree trying to distance himself from the man.

"When my soldiers find you every one of you will hang for this." Monastario put as much venom into his voice as his weakened body would allow. He wanted these men to know he did not fear them, that they could not intimidate him. A sudden thought came to him and Monastario looked around the small enclosure. "Where are my two men?"

The tall man smiled, "They will be no help to you, Commandante. Dead men rarely are."

"Madre de dios." He whispered under his breath. Monastario noted the strange look in the tall man's eyes and he shuddered. A feeling of doubt washed over him and he suddenly feared that he would not leave these men alive.

Felipe turned to the other men, "We will let him rest for now. This evening…this evening the fun will start."

Monastario shivered and sunk deeper into the hard earth. His shoulder ached mercilessly and his head gave him no respite from the constant drumming. The commandante could not fight the fatigue that stole across his body and he fell into a fitful slumber. He did not awaken when Manuel, the youngest of the men, bandaged his wounded shoulder.

**ZZZ**

Diego sat with his father outside the tavern enjoying the fresh morning air, cool glasses of orange juice rested before them and they talked little as they watched the pueblo stir to life. Normally, the de la Vega's would not be in the pueblo so early, but a cattle auction had stirred the two men out of bed early. Don Carlos and Don Miguel were going to meet them soon and together they would ride to the auction.

The peaceful morning was disrupted by a quick and high-pitched shriek. Diego and Alejandro stood immediately and moved quickly down the dusty road. A crowd had all ready gathered and Garcia was stumbling out of the cuartel, his left boot held in his hand. "What is going on?" He demanded as he rounded the cream colored wall.

Diego and his father were on Garcia's heels as he stopped short. The crowd had parted to let the Sergeant through and as Diego stepped to the side he could see a brown horse pawing the ground. A bloodied soldier was half sprawled across the neck of the beast. He lifted his head and moaned as the horse shifted beneath him. Diego turned to a wide-eyed boy - his dark eyes hidden by wind tousled bangs - and asked him to bring Dr. Hernandez. The brown-eyed youth nodded and took off across the plaza, sandaled feet stirring up dust as he ran to find the doctor.

Diego approached the soldier and laid a gentle hand on his back. Alejandro stepped up beside his elbow and watched as Diego lowered the man from his horse. Garcia came around the other side of Diego and knelt. "Miguel," Garcia asked as he looked into the pale face of the soldier. A sudden thought struck Garcia and his own face blanched. "Madre de dios!" He exclaimed as he bounded to his feet.

Garcia was yelling for a nearby soldier, his deep voice easily carrying across the short distance. Sanchez nodded in reply and turned toward the garrison, his lean body slipping through the half open gate with ease. A call sounded a moment later and the sound of moving men and horses drifted to where Diego knelt.

He had retrieved his handkerchief and was wiping the blood from the wounded man's face. Garcia stood beside him and he asked hesitantly, "Miguel, where are the others? What has happened to the Commandante and Pedro?"

The soldier opened his eyes and blinked rapidly. His breathes came in ragged gulps and it took him a moment to force enough air into his lungs to speak. The soldier's voice was low and raspy and Diego leaned forward to hear him. Garcia knelt in the dust and turned his ear to the man's lips. "Pedro…Pedro is dead. The Capitán is hurt, maybe dead. Ambushed on the road." The man paused and took several breathes before continuing. "Not sure who. Five men. There was a shot and the Commandante fell. Pedro was dead before he hit the ground." The stuttered speech had drained the man's remaining strength and he succumbed to darkness that had lingered on the edge of his awareness.

Diego looked around for Doctor Hernandez but he couldn't see past the mass of people surrounding him and the wounded man. A strange wheezing noise caused Diego to turn back to the man. Blood pooled at the corners of the soldier's mouth and dripped slowly down his cheek to rest by his ear. A cough raked the man's body and Diego held him until the fit passed.

Garcia looked on with large eyes. The sergeant did not know what to do for the man so he let Diego take care of his soldier. Diego knew more about medicine than the soft-hearted Sergeant and if anyone could help the man it was Diego. Alejandro also watched as his son gently wiped the soldier's face and placed a comforting hand on his chest as pain coursed through Miguel's body.

Diego felt the man still beneath his hand and he knew there would be no need for the good doctor. Hesitantly, Diego reached for the man's neck. He was not surprised when he felt nothing and with a sigh he sat back on his heels. Garcia's eyes widened further as he saw Diego's features darken. Sergeant Garcia swiped a hand across his face before he stood and turned to his men.

Without hesitation Garcia ordered his men out on patrol. "Divide into two groups. The Commandante will have taken one of the main roads. One group search the roads and the other group the hills. I want the Capitán back here before the sun sets," Garcia ordered. His men obeyed quickly and twelve soldiers left the pueblo at a gallop.

When Garcia turned back to Miguel, Doctor Hernandez was kneeling by the body whispering softly to Diego. Garcia turned to Sanchez and ordered four men to carry the dead soldier inside the cuartel. Solemnly, the men approached their fallen comrade and gently lifted the prone figure. Doctor Hernandez followed and as the soldiers disappeared inside the garrison the crowd dispersed, whispering among themselves as they left.

Alejandro and Diego followed the soldiers inside and watched quietly as they laid the figure on a cot in the barracks. Doctor Hernandez went about his business quickly. Padre Benitez arrived and he knelt beside the doctor, his voice low as he said a prayer over the fallen soldier.

Diego took his father's arm gently and the two walked into the sunshine. "I must go Father. There is nothing we can do here. Not anymore. Wait for Miguel and Carlos. I am going to see what I can find. I have a feeling Monastario is in grave danger."

Alejandro nodded and wished his son a safe journey. "Find the Commandante, Diego. But watch yourself. It is obvious these men care little for life." Diego promised his father he would be careful and without looking back strode quickly to his horse.

_ZZZ_

Tornado raced across the dirt road, his black mane flying wildly in the wind. Zorro had taken the old road that ran beside their hacienda. Monastario had taken this road before and Diego had a feeling he had taken it again. The soldiers would be scouring the main road first and the hills around it and Zorro knew he could easily discover what they had found. Moving swiftly, Zorro scanned the horizon. The sun had just begun to reach its Zenith when the masked rider found the dead soldier. He dismounted and squatted by the still figure. Blood surrounded the man and Zorro gently rolled the soldier over. Dark stains covered Pedro's tunic and spread across his left arm. A bullet had found the young man's heart and the Fox knew he had died almost instantly.

Footprints marred the road and it was difficult to tell which way the bandits had gone. It took several minutes before Zorro found the blood on the rock and the small trail that lead into the brush. Zorro took Tornado's reigns and moved slowly through the trees. The woods were thick with underbrush and Zorro cursed under his breath as his cape caught on the brambles. Tornado protested against the dense woods with a soft neigh but moved without hesitation after Zorro. The Fox stopped and his eyes widened in shock. The trail had disappeared. He turned and followed the trail back to the road. Leaving Tornado on the road, Zorro reentered the small woods. Again he followed the light trail. Boot prints in the dry ground faded and reappeared, thin limbs that were bent or broken lay scattered randomly, and then it simply stopped. Zorro shook his head in frustration.

He returned to Tornado and ran a hand down the horse's neck. Zorro moved to the center of the road, to where the dead soldier lay. He had covered the young man's face with a small cloth. He would return him to the pueblo and his family tonight. But for now, Zorro began scouring the ground once more. He walked to the other side of the road but saw nothing that indicated that anyone had been through the underbrush. The road itself was a mosaic of boot prints and horse shoes, animal tracks, and wind blown patterns.

Frustrated, Zorro growled under his breath. He returned to the side of the road and traced the path once more. As before, the trail simply ended. _These were clever men_, Zorro mused. _And deadly_. That was a dangerous combination and Zorro felt a new urgency to find any trace of where the men had gone. It was clear where they had kept the horses, for the ground was trampled in several places, but the clever Fox could not find the path they had chosen after they had taken Monastario. It was somewhere, Zorro chastised himself. He just had to find it, that one broken limb or a trampled plant. A partial hoof print off the road or a boot print out of place could lead him to the bandits. But two hours later, Zorro had continued down the road, had ridden through the woods and yet he found nothing.

The road was still used and it was impossible for Zorro to determine which prints belonged to an innocent bystander or which belonged to the kidnappers. Returning to the soldier, Zorro gently lifted the man. Tornado did not shift as the stranger was placed upon his back and he quietly followed Zorro as he pulled gently on his reigns. Man and beast walked steadily down the road. Now, Zorro's duty was to the soldier, but later, he would return before the soldiers came. Tonight, under the half moon, Zorro would ride. The Commandante's life depended on Zorro's swiftness. The men who had taken the Capitán had all ready proven their willingness to kill and Zorro had no doubt that the Commandante was in grave danger.

As he walked Zorro scanned the road and the tree line. He hoped that he would find a trail that lead off the road and into the hills, but he saw no such path and as he entered the gates of the city a cry rose from the lips of the women. His father was still in Los Angeles and he and Don Carlos pushed past the crowd to step beside the dark figure. Sergeant Garcia was a step behind and his deep voice echoed through the plaza, "Madre de dios."

Alejandro put a hand on Zorro's arm and he could feel the tightness of the muscles beneath the black shirt. His son was angry. Alejandro knew he would not see his son home tonight. As much as Alejandro disliked the Capitán and feared what he meant for his son's future, he would never stand to see the man injured or murdered. A group of soldiers dispersed the crowd and one tall soldier his dark eyes wet, lifted his fallen comrade from the black stallion and carried him inside the cuartel.

No one even considered the fact that Zorro was within their grasp, that he was surrounded by armed soldiers. It would have been easy for a soldier to grab Zorro's black sleeve or to knock him unconscious by a swing of the musket. Instead, the men cared little that Zorro was in the pueblo; their thoughts were on their dead friends and their commander who was still missing. With barely a whisper of his black cape, Zorro mounted Tornado and turned once again to the old road and the questions that lay along the worn path. Alejandro and Carlos nodded as Diego left. Tomorrow, the Dons would form their own search party. By noon, the hills would be covered with soldiers and caballeros. There would be little room for the bandits to hide.

**ZZZ**

Monastario woke to a sharp pain in his ribs. He rolled away from the source of the blow and curled in on himself. His head still throbbed with each beat of his heart and his shoulder burned with a slow fire. Fever touched his skin and his face glowed under the heat, sweat clung to his hair and cheeks and his mind was blurry from both pain and fever. He did not remember where he was when he finally forced his eyes open. The sun was beginning to set and a cool breeze chilled his heated skin. A dark figure stood over him and Monastario blinked to clear his hazy vision.

The wild eyes of the stranger brought everything to a sudden clarity and Monastario felt fear rise in his throat. The words of this dark-eyed man reverberated in his mind, t_his evening…this evening the fun will start, _and Monastario moaned against the images that came to mind. For what perceived injustice did these men find him guilty? What did they plan to do to him? The thought of his dead men not only fueled his anger but stirred a deep fear in him. If these men were willing to so callously and casually take a life, what hope did he have of surviving the night? In a strange twist of fate, Monastario felt himself wishing for the clever bandit and his black stallion to arrive, whip cracking in the evening air and his steel flashing. What hope did he have, though, that Zorro would come to his rescue? Monastario held little optimism that his men would find him in time, and reluctantly, as the first of a dozen kicks rained down on him, the Commandante prayed that Zorro, his enemy, would rescue him.

**TBC**

_A/N: I will try to update weekly, but I will definitely update at least every other week. I hope you enjoy this story and please let me know what you think. Thanks. _


	2. Chapter 2

Zorro returned to the road where the soldier had been found. He closed his eyes and pictured the layout of the land. Hills and groves of tall trees came to mind. There were many places for a man to hide. A small group could stay hidden among the hills without being found, and Zorro feared these men were used to the hills. They knew how to track and how to hide their trail, and it would not be easy to find them Zorro knew. Mounting Tornado, Zorro moved back down the road, toward the de la Vega hacienda. Perhaps the men had returned this way.

Zorro almost missed it – the trail was small and sparse and heavily overgrown, but the grass had been trod recently and a vine had been broken. Cautiously, the Fox dismounted and followed the slight path. His boots made little sound on the grass, but Tornado snapped a limb and the sound seemed to echo through the air. Besides the few trees that lined the hills and the tall grass, there was little place to hide here. Only the growing darkness would hide him from prying eyes. The sky had grown overcast and the moon cast a faint glow through the high clouds.

Shadows stretched long and strange over the land and Diego could not stop the slight shiver that coursed down his spine and arms. Someone was watching him. Looking around quickly, Zorro saw no one, just tall grass and rolling hills, and ahead, silhouetted against the last colors of the sunset, jagged rocks that stood tall and looming. Caves lay scattered across the hills and mountains and the cunning Fox felt certain that somewhere among the rocks ahead, Monastario and his captives lay hidden. He had captured bandits in these same hills before and he knew the land, the small enclosures and known caves, but the area was vast and there was no way to be sure where the men were hidden.

The path Zorro traveled now was little more than a worn grass trail. Few horses had walked here for the path was narrow. Perhaps this was not the bandits trail? He was certain they had horses. Still, Zorro continued on, his eyes scanning the horizon ahead and his ears straining to hear anything. The growing darkness swathed him in shadows and as dusk settled the world turned a strange grey. Shadows blended together and swirled into strange patterns as the wind caught the tall grass and thin tree limbs. Shapes merged and became indistinct and Zorro paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the new light.

A strange feeling crept up his arms and down his spine and Zorro once again felt that someone was watching him. He could see no one, but the rocky outcrop ahead could hide men easily. Moving ahead slowly, Zorro strained to hear anything, and his hazel eyes moved quickly, scanning the rocks and grass. Tornado felt something now. Zorro felt his black stallion tense and his ears twitched. El Zorro stopped. Something was not right.

**ZZZ**

Monastario opened his eyes slowly, careful not to move his body or head. He was surprised to see the sun had set. His right arm was numb, but his body hurt too much to roll onto his back. The cool earth felt good against his cheek and the heat of his skin and he was thankful for the chill of the night. His left shoulder still throbbed but Monastario was thankful that the pain had receded. He was not sure when, but someone had bandaged his injured arm and had placed a strange poultice on the bloodied wound. _I suppose they don't want to kill me quickly_, Monastario shivered at the thought and his stomach heaved, but he refused to let the men see his weakness. A few deep breathes brought his emotions back into focus and found his stomach settled.

Monastario could hear voices behind him. The tones were urgent and angry and the Capitán felt a sudden need to know what was being said. As quietly as he could he shifted his body and rolled onto his back. Pain flared in his ribs, but he clenched his teeth until the pain left and then, when his breath returned to normal, he rolled onto his injured side. He barely stifled a cry as he put pressure on his shoulder, but he found that if he laid half on his back and half on his side, the pain was lessened. No one seemed to notice he had moved, or they simply did not care, for no one came to him. His eyes soon found three of the men standing just outside the ring of light cast by the fire.

The bandits were arguing. One man waved his arms emphatically in the air, his voice rising as he spoke. Monastario could hear little of what was said – only snatches caught on the wind reached his ears. _Zorro?_ Monastario felt a sudden surge of hope. _Was the Fox closing in?_ Perhaps he would be free of these men by morning. Another man shook his head and spoke. His voice was calmer and Monastario could hear nothing of what was said. It was the wild-eyed man that spoke last. The Commandante strained to hear what was spoken, for the other two backed up and nodded vigorously. _Were they frightened of the man as well?_ _Maybe I could use that to my advantage_, Monastario thought as his mind worked on a plan. He could not simply lie here and hope Zorro came to his rescue. He was capable of taking care of himself, and he was not about to stay idle when his own life was threatened.

However, Monastario had little time to plot his escape. A large hand grabbed his blue jacket roughly and he was hauled agonizingly to his unsteady feet. He swayed a moment as dizziness washed over him and he battled the nausea that threatened him.

A cold breath brushed past his ear as the wild-eyed man spoke, "Zorro will not save you. Even though he is close he will not make it here alive. I will kill him this night."

Monastario laughed. He could not stop the action. The idea was absurd. Monastario had chased the man for years and he had never come close to capturing the bandit, let alone killing him. Even thought the Commandante was fully expecting a blow, he was unprepared for the raw fury that flashed in the black eyes or the pistol that connected to the back of his skull. Monastario hit the ground hard and laid there unmoving. His vision swam before him and this time he could not stop the bile that rose in his throat. He barely had time to fling his body to the side before he expelled what little he had eaten earlier in the day. Monastario rolled back over and took several deep breathes.

His mouth tasted terrible and his throat was dry. He longed for a cool glass of wine or even some water, but he feared to draw the attention of the dark-eyed man. Instead he closed his eyes and willed Zorro to find him. Tomorrow, if he saw the sunrise, he concluded, he would find a way to escape. For now though, he was content to lie still and let the chilly breeze ruffle his black hair.

**ZZZ**

Felipe stepped over the prone figure of the Commandante and moved to his men. Manuel squatted by the fire, stirring a pot over the flames. Luis sat on a large boulder, watching the hills and the approaching man and horse. Raul was dozing, tucked in wool blanket underneath a small tree. Joaquin…Felipe looked around for his fourth man. Joaquin had been angry at his decision to ignore Zorro for now. Joaquin had felt the man was too dangerous and too close to them all ready, but Felipe wanted to make sure that Zorro would die with the first shot. Moving out of the light of the fire, Felipe found Joaquin staring into the darkness.

"He will find us, Felipe."

"It does not matter, Joaquin. We will kill the Fox and then the Commandante will die. Our revenge will be complete."

Joaquin turned on the man behind him, "It will not be so easy, Felipe. Both are clever men. We should kill the Commandante now and run. Zorro will not chase us if he finds the body of the Capitán. Then we will be free."

"No! I have planned this too long to run from fear now. Do not be a coward, Joaquin," Felipe hissed.

"I am no coward, Felipe," Joaquin said as he stood and faced the other man. "This is too dangerous. What of your brother? Would you have him arrested and imprisoned again?"

Felipe cringed and his dark eyes seemed black in the night. His brother had nearly died when they were arrested two years ago. That was one reason Monastario was going to die slowly. His brother suffered for weeks, burning with fever and pain as his beaten body slowly recovered. Felipe had vowed then that Monastario would suffer. And as his eyes scanned the distant hills, he vowed also that Zorro would die for bringing them to Monastario. Tonight, he would seek his justice.

Joaquin turned from Felipe and sat back down on his rock. "Foolish," he muttered under his breath. Joaquin ran a slim finger over the ridge of his nose. The slight curve of the bridge brought back memories of their theft and flight through the hills. His nose had been broken in the fight and it had never healed straight. But it did not bother him. He wondered again how he let Felipe talk him into this plan. It was because of his cousin, Raul, he suspected. The man turned to look at the sleeping man and shook his head. Raul was too easy to convince, and Felipe had talked the man into joining him once again. Joaquin followed his cousin, perhaps foolishly, he admitted to himself, in order to guard him from the Felipe. Sighing, Joaquin returned to his silent vigil wondering what this strange night would hold for all of them.

**TBC**

**A/N: Thanks to all those who read and reviewed. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer. **


	3. Chapter 3

Zorro left Tornado by a small tree and continued on alone. He crouched and moved slowly through the tall grass, keeping to the strange shadows that shifted in the wind. Something was wrong and he could not shake off the feeling of being watched. He was certain the bandits were ahead, concealed in the rocks and waiting for him. But Zorro saw no other way to enter the rocky outcropping. He could go around but that would cost him hours and he was not certain there would be more cover to hide his approach on the other side. If he was wrong, he could not afford the extra time it would cost him, so he continued on, his eyes always searching for movement.

Zorro stopped thirty yards from the stony enclosure and squatted on his heels. The area seemed quiet, but there was a faint smell of something in the air. Spices, perhaps? Or maybe smoke. Darkness had swept the hills and it was difficult to make out shapes among the grey stones. Keeping low, Zorro inched his way toward the narrow passage of dirt and pebbles that wound between two expansive boulders. The rounded tops loomed overhead and cast long shadows from the pale moonlight. A slight breeze tossed dust into the air and it settled lightly on the grey surface, worn smooth from years of wind and rain.

Diego was not certain what he had seen, but he shifted his body and ducked lower. A flash of light and a searing pain along his shoulder warned Zorro he was not alone. He dropped to the ground, his gloved right hand reaching for his shoulder. The wound was slight, a deep grove that sliced across his left shoulder, but it stung fiercely. Peering between the grass blades, Zorro saw movement to his immediate left - a tall figure in pale clothing. Staying low to the ground, Zorro crawled to his right until he reached a narrow tree that offered better cover. He placed a hand on the trunk and scanned the area in front of him. The figure was gone, but Zorro knew they were hidden in the circle of rocks. He was at a disadvantage and he could see no way to maneuver around the men without being seen. They held the high ground and at the moment there was little Zorro could do but wait and see what their next move was.

Zorro took off his glove and gently probed the shoulder wound. The bleeding had lessened, but his shirt had stuck to the wound and each movement of his shoulder tore the cloth from the dried blood. Shouting drew El Zorro's attention and he struggled to make out the words. The voices were rough and angry and Zorro wondered what had caused the outburst. Deciding now was the only time to move, Zorro pushed himself up and once his feet were steady beneath him he took off at a sprint toward the rock wall.

The rock was cool and damp and the dark grey hid his movements well. Slowly, the stealthy fox moved along the edge of the rock wall, his breath held as his foot caught gravel and shifted beneath him. Swinging himself up onto a low rock, Zorro grimaced at the pain in his shoulder, but he ignored the sensation and completed his jump. Moving cautiously in the dark he found another boulder and climbed onto it. A crack in the wall allowed him to see into the circular opening and the small fire that burned within illuminated the area in a faint yellow light.

Commandante Monastario lay against a tree - his body was slumped to one side, his head resting on the dew covered ground. Two men stood arguing, their voices rising and falling in a crescendo of harsh words and threats. Where were the others? Zorro was certain there were more than two men. Part of the enclosure was hidden from view and Zorro suspected that at least one man sat hidden in the depths of the shadows. Perhaps there were only three.

Monastario stirred and opened his eyes. The loud voices roused him from his fever induced stupor and he shifted slightly to look at the two arguing men. Felipe and Joaquin? Monastario was uncertain about the second man, perhaps he was Raul or Manuel. It did not matter though, there names were unimportant. Whoever the second man was did not like Felipe, hated him even, and Monastario wondered if he could use that to his advantage, get the man on his side. Would the man help him? Monastario had never spoken to the bandit. The man had stayed separated from the rest, often sitting alone staring across the grass. What did that truly mean?

Monastario's thoughts shattered as a small pebble bounced off of his shoulder. He looked up but saw nothing. Dismissing the incident he looked once more at the bickering men. Another pebble, however, drew his attention once more. His brown eyes blinked against the darkness trying to distinguish the shapes. A third pebble bounced beside his boot and he followed the path it had taken. He saw movement among the rocks, but his vision was slightly hazy and sweat stung his eyes making it hard to see. A final pebble skirted across his stomach and finally, Monastario was able to see a dark shape among the rocks. A hand moved from the shadows and Monastario could barely suppress the sigh of relief that threatened to escape his chapped lips.

A brief thought coursed through is mind before he dispelled it. Was this instant relief and joy what the peons felt when Zorro rode into the pueblo? Was the man truly a savior rather than an outlaw? Later, Monastario would convince himself these thoughts were merely wild creations of his fevered mind, but for now, he doubt settled into the pit of his stomach and he was not certain where the masked man stood with the law. Zorro's waving arm brought Monastario back to the situation and he squinted in the hope that the Fox would become clearer.

Zorro found five small rocks and palming them he slithered through the narrow opening. He stopped at the edge, where the light from the fire did not reach. He took one small round stone and tossed it lightly at the Commandante. The grey rock caught the Capitán on the shoulder and Zorro saw the man look up. But Monastario turned his face away and stared at the two arguing men. Zorro tossed a second pebble and this one grazed the man's thigh. Capitán Monastario turned his face toward Zorro and the Fox threw another pebble. The fourth stone skimmed the blue uniform jacket and landed on the grass beside the Commandante.

Monastario's expression changed and Zorro knew the man had seen him. Zorro pointed to the two arguing men and Monastario shrugged in response. Zorro looked around and then pointed to Monastario, the two arguing men and himself, and then he swept his arm in a wide arc. It took a moment for Monastario to understand what Zorro wanted but he held up five fingers and hoped Zorro's eyes were sharper than his. Zorro nodded his understanding and moved his arm in another sweep, shrugging his shoulders as he did so.

Monastario looked around. His shoulder pulled every time he moved his head, but the pain was only a dull ache now. One man was still curled by the fire, though the Commandante was certain he no longer slept. The youngest man was sitting on a rock by the fire eating dinner from a wooden bowl. The fifth man Monastario could not find.

Zorro leaned against the rock clinging to the dark recess as he thought of a plan. He could not take five men alone and escape with the wounded Commandante. He needed a distraction – something that would draw some of the men away. But Zorro could think of nothing at the moment. There was little here that he could use to distract the men. And the odds of him sneaking around the small rock enclosure were slim. The men knew he was here, which meant one man was still watching him. Perhaps they thought his wound was serious and were paying little attention, but something was tugging at Zorro's mind and he glanced uneasily behind him. He saw and heard nothing, but that fifth man worried him. He was somewhere among the dull rocks and deep shadows – watching, waiting for the right moment to seize the Fox.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

Luis lay in the shadows, the cold earth digging into his stomach as he inched across the uneven surface. He had seen the masked man stumble to his feet. Felipe thought Zorro was dead – the man was certain his bullet had done the job. But Luis knew the man was not so easy to kill. Perhaps it was superstition or the hidden thought that Zorro was more than a mere man that forced Luis to watch the spot where the Fox had fallen. He was rewarded for his restlessness when he saw the shadows move and the dark figure crossed the grass to the deep shade of the rocks.

Slowly, with the stealth of a stalking cat, Luis crept toward the Fox. The man seemed oblivious to his approach and Luis had to stop himself from exhaling a sigh of relief. He was almost within springing distance as his hand slid toward his belted knife. His fingers grasped the wooden handle. His movement stopped instantly as his prey shifted position. Luis lay perfectly still, his fingertips resting lightly on the handle, his face buried in the wet grass. Zorro turned again, facing the camp and Luis took the opportunity to spring to his feet, the old weapon muted in the pale light.

Luis flung himself at the caped man and smiled when he felt his knife sink into soft flesh. Zorro cried out softly and Luis nearly laughed at the sound. _I shall capture the elusive Fox – perhaps then Felipe would truly see my worth._ But Luis had not bargained that Zorro would fight back. The combined wounds he was sure would silence the man, but his lunge had only caught Zorro's upper arm and the man spun on Luis, his left fist connecting solidly with Luis's jaw.

Luis stumbled back, the knife still clutched in his hand. Zorro took a step toward him and Luis shook his head to clear it before gripping the knife harder. Zorro stepped quickly toward the outlaw and Luis slashed his knife toward his enemy's chest, but the weapon sailed harmlessly past the dark shirt. Zorro closed the gap quickly and another fist forced Luis to stagger backwards, his footing lost on the loose dirt. Luis landed hard on the rocky ground and the air rushed from his lungs. He blinked rapidly for a moment and when his vision cleared Zorro stood over him, his knife now clutched in the black gloves of the Fox.

Zorro clamped a hand down hard over Luis' mouth. He did not know if they had been heard, but he did not want Luis to yell out. Zorro took the knife and cut both sleeves from the white shirt Luis wore. He cut another strip from his cape and wound the black cloth over the outlaw's mouth as a gag. The masked bandit took the two sleeves and used them to tie the tanned arms behind the outlaw's back. He pulled Luis to his feet and moved him away from the fissure and his friends. Zorro stopped at a small overhang and forced Luis to lay in the small opening. There was little room to move inside the enclosure and Zorro picked up a large rock and placed it at the foot of the opening. Two more rocks saw the enclosure mostly hidden. With only his legs and little room to work, it would be difficult to move the three large rocks and even harder still to untie his hands and gag.

As Zorro turned away from the trapped man a searing pain shot through the back of his skull. He dropped to his knees and felt something warm trickle down his neck to soak into the collar of his shirt. Darkness danced at the edges of his vision but he forced the disconcerting blackness away. He struggled to his feet, but a boot caught him behind the knee and he fell hard, his shins scrapping against the rough gravel. A hand grabbed his bandana and pulled his head backward. Rough hands reached for his arms and his joints protested as his limbs were pulled roughly behind him.

Zorro tried to jerk his arms free but the grip was tight and nails dug into his flesh as he struggled. A heavy boot sank into his ribs and Zorro could not stop the groan that was wrenched from his lips. "If you continue to struggle, I will only kill you faster." The words tickled his cheek and Zorro knew the man was close to his ear. Zorro was yanked to his feet and he stumbled before he gained his balance. A hand on his shoulder spun him around and he found himself looking into the wild eyes of his captor.

The face seemed familiar but Zorro had little time to analyze the man's features before the butt of a pistol connected with his skull. Hazel eyes grew wide for a brief moment before they closed. Zorro sank to the ground, his body limp with his hands still tied behind his back. Felipe nodded toward Joaquin and Manuel and each man grabbed an arm and pulled Zorro toward their encampment. Raul moved to untie Luis and help the man from his small prison. Luis nodded his thanks as Raul helped him stand. Luis shot a dark look at the lifeless figure between his companions and moved slowly toward the small fire. His face hurt almost as much as his pride and he promised himself that Zorro would pay for his embarrassment.

**ZZZ**

Sergeant Garcia paced the wood planks of the tavern, his heavy steps echoing softly in the common room. Don Alejandro and Don Carlos sat watching the Sergeant, their expressions grim as the sun sank lower in the west. It had grown dark as the men waited for the return of the search parties. Alejandro wished he had taken the time to ask Diego where he was headed. He knew he would not see Diego tonight unless he found the Commandante. The Don berated himself for not finding out where Zorro had found the dead soldier. Tomorrow, Alejandro would search the back road. The old highway was seldom used nowadays but Alejandro had known the Commandante to take it during his trips to Monterey and so far the soldiers had little luck on the main highway.

Don Carlos ordered three glasses of wine and when the drinks arrived he tapped Alejandro on the shoulder. "Drink. It will be a long night and I do not think I can take much more of Garcia's pacing." Carlos raised his voice so it carried to the large man, "Sergeant, I have ordered some wine. Please sit a moment and join us."

It looked as though Garcia would pass up the wine for his constant pacing, but Don Carlos was relieved to see the sergeant falter in his step and then continue toward the table. "Gracias, señor. I am trying to gather my courage." Garcia paused to take a long sip of his wine.

Both Alejandro and Carlos looked puzzled. However, they waited until the Sergeant spoke, knowing the man would continue with his story. The three men sat in silence for several minutes before Sergeant Garcia spoke again. "I have to go talk to Miguel and Pedro's family. I am certain they have heard the news but it is my duty to tell the families."

Alejandro spoke immediately, "I will go with you if you would like. I can not imagine doing that task alone."

Garcia forced a smile that did not reach his normally cheery eyes. "Gracias." The men finished their drinks and stood quietly together. The dark night seemed too bright for such terrible news and a heavy feeling settled around the trio as they left the tavern. Without being asked, Don Carlos followed his friend through the door and down a small narrow street. Miguel's family lived outside the pueblo, on a small farm, but Pedro and his family lived within the walls of the pueblo de Los Angeles. And it was inside a small whitewashed house that Alejandro tried to comfort a grieving mother - the entire time his heart prayed for his own son's safe return.

The air had turned cold by the time the weary men mounted their horses and rode stiffly from the pueblo. Alejandro was not certain Miguel's family knew of his death. While news tended to travel quickly, the sudden deaths had lain heavy on everyone's hearts and something told Alejandro their next visit would be even harder. For a brief moment, Alejandro wished he could take back his offer and turn his horse toward his own hacienda. But he was a man of his word and there was little that could cause him to go against a promise. That did not stop him from wishing he had kept his lips shut in the tavern. The night ahead seemed to grow bleaker and heavy clouds blocked what little light the moon offered. The three men moved slowly their bodies and minds heavy with the task that lay before them. In the pale light, Alejandro could see the good Sergeant's eyes glistening and he knew this was a night the Sergeant would gladly live without.

**ZZZ**

Monastario could not stop the sudden feeling of defeat that washed over him as the limp body of Zorro was thrown beside him. The man made little sound as his body connected to the hard ground. Monastario could see the dark red stain of blood on the man's neck. Zorro lay with his back to the Capitán and his back moved slowly with each breath. Zorro's cape was torn and his hat was no where in sight. His mask was still in place which both surprised and annoyed the Commandante. Monastario had not expected the men to keep Zorro's identity a secret, but then Monastario doubted this was a permanent situation. Despite their position, Monastario felt excitement creep into his mind at the thought that he would soon discover Zorro's identity. It did not matter that he would likely die this night or perhaps tomorrow as long as he knew his enemy's face.

And if they both managed to live, there would be no place for the Fox to hide. Monastario smiled slightly to himself and closed his eyes. His excitement was short-lived however, as pain engulfed his shoulder. A large weather worn hand gripped his wound painfully and fingers dug into the sensitive skin. Sweat beaded on the Commandante's face and neck and unbidden tears sprang to his eyes. His breathes came in quick gasps as he willed the searing pain to leave, but the hand only applied more pressure and the Capitán could not stop the scream that tore from his lips.

Monastario did not see Zorro move but the pain ended suddenly and a black silhouette slammed into the man behind him. A grunt reached the Commandante's ears and he craned his neck to see Zorro on top of Felipe. The two men wrestled for a moment, but Felipe connected a solid blow to Zorro's jaw and the man fell back. Zorro lashed out with his boot and wished fervently that his hands were not tied. There was little he could do bound, but the Fox would not allow the crazed man to torture Monastario, and despite the pain and dizziness he felt, Zorro used all his strength to push upwards with his legs. The force pushed Zorro into Felipe and sent the two men sprawling once again. But without the use of his hands, Zorro could not stop the dark-eyed man from knocking him off. The blow to the jaw was painful, but it compared little to the pain that sat low in Zorro's skull right at the base of his neck. A wave of dizziness washed over Zorro and he barely stopped the urge to vomit. His kick had missed and now Felipe circled around and grabbed Zorro from behind.

An arm reached around Zorro's neck and squeezed. Zorro choked as Felipe tightened his grip. Zorro swayed in the man's arms and Felipe squeezed harder. There was little Zorro could do without his hands and the last thing he saw before the darkness took him was Monastario's wide and frightened eyes.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

Monastario did not know what possessed him, but he dismissed the pain he was in and, with a deep breath, he lunged at Felipe. Zorro had fallen beside the crazed man and Monastario stumbled over the still body, but he used his fall to shoulder the man in the stomach. Felipe staggered backward as the air rushed from his lungs. Monastario did not hesitate as he reached for a large rock and swung the heavy object at Felipe's head. The grey stone grazed Felipe's left cheek and left a bloody scrape across the tanned face. Monastario arched his arm for another swing when something sharp pierced the back of his uniform and bit painfully into his flesh.

_Zorro's sword_, Monastario swore silently. The weapons the men used before were wider and duller. Monastario stopped his arm in mid-swing and dropped the heavy rock. Felipe slapped the Capitán across the face. "That was very foolish," he spat as he moved past Monastario.

Joaquin grabbed the Commandante by the collar of his uniform and led him to a horse. "Wait here." Joaquin moved off and Monastario watched as he and Raul picked up Zorro and slung him across the horse Monastario was standing beside. "Get up," Joaquin ordered as he shoved Monastario toward the animal. The horses shied at the contact and Monastario lost his balance. Only Joaquin's quick reflexes kept him from falling. Monastario's legs felt weak and his head was heavy. He doubted he could mount the horse let alone ride it somewhere, but the dark glare Joaquin shot him forced Monastario to move his legs and cautiously he lifted his left leg and put his booted foot in the stirrup. He did not have the strength to lift his other leg however and Joaquin was forced to assist him.

The action took all of Monastario's strength and he sat, hunched over Zorro's body taking deep breaths until the intense wave of fatigue faded. With disgust, Monastario looked at his blood caked shoulder and reached a tentative hand to the wound. The dressing was in desperate need of changing, but he knew no one would take care of it. Anger rose in him and he glared at his captors, putting all the hate he could into the look. Joaquin ignored him, turning his back on the two captives. Monastario fumed.

The trip was slow and painful. Monastario rested in short snatches, his head jerking as he awoke to the sound of voices or his own pain, and once to the shifting movement of Zorro in front of him. Concern washed over Monastario briefly and he could not help but feel slightly guilty for the man's condition. The reigns felt heavy in his hands and he let them fall across the back of Zorro. Monastario felt pity for a moment as his tired eyes watched the still figure before him. He was uncomfortable seeing the Fox so vulnerable and weak. If Zorro was simply a man, why was Monastario unable to capture him? He preferred the witty and sarcastic figure over this disconcerting image. The Capitán turned away from the still figure and looked over is shoulder at the men flanking him.

A part of Monastario knew that it was his carelessness that had landed him among the kidnappers and if his mind hadn't drifted to the clouds, his body would not have been taken by surprise. But there had been no reason to fear the trail for it had been quiet for sometime and Monastario felt certain there was little trouble to be found. He had taken the road often enough in the past, most of the time when he traveled alone. The Commandante preferred the slower route, not only for its peacefulness, for few rarely traveled the old road, but for its beauty. The trail was often overgrown along its borders and wild flowers bloomed in the spring. The scent of the sea would sometimes float among the petals and vines and the tired Commandante enjoyed the serenity it offered.

But that serenity had been destroyed and for that Monastario was angry; his mind, hazy with fever, focused on that trespass and the injustice of the theft until he felt his face flush and his heart pound with anger. Enrique Sanchez Monastario would never figure out what had overcome him, but he felt anger and strength return and with a shout he spurred his horse forward. For a moment the horse seemed to pause, but with a sudden jerk the animal lurched forward. Zorro's body bounced and shifted but stayed in place as the beast raced across the grass. Monastario held on tightly, his body aching and his mind spinning, but he kept his grip, a deep fear driving the weakness away and encompassing him in a raw sense of strength. To give in to weakness now meant certain death, of that he was certain.  
The sounds of pursuit thundered in his ears, though it was difficult to discern over the ringing that echoed across his mind. He dared not look back for fear of losing his balance and falling. His body screamed at him and Zorro grunted, but Monastario put his heels to the horse's flanks and urged the steed to move faster. The men were gaining. The Commandante knew his horse was carrying more weight and would be slower, but in his fevered mind he cared little. All he could think of was escape. The path veered to the left and the Capitán took it sharply. The beast stumbled a moment but regained its footing and continued down the slight trail. Branches slapped across Monastario's face and stung his skin but he did not look away, his eyes remained glued ahead, his arms and body stiff with pain and fear.

His adrenaline would not last much longer and Monastario feared he would not stay atop his mount for much longer. Zorro moaned and the Capitán cast an apprehensive look at the prone figure. The black bandana covered sweat-soaked hair and blood made dark rivulets down the back of his neck. Zorro would be little help if Monastario gave into the tiredness and pain that threatened to overwhelm him. His shoulder burned with a deep fire and his stomach churned, but fear drove him deeper into the night.

A shout came from behind him and the Commandante knew the bandits were getting closer. Monastario turned off the trail into the longer grass. He did not know exactly where they were so he drove the horse blindly, turning east and then north. Ahead lay a dark and shadowed grove of trees and Monastario veered the animal toward the cover. If only he had a weapon, the military man thought to himself. A knife or, preferably, a pistol would help to even the odds. Zorro's sword had been taken as had Monastario's weapon. A sudden hope entered Monastario's mind and he threw his body forward. His arm landed heavily on Zorro's back and the man grunted and stirred. Monastario ignored the movement and reached down, his hand groping for one of Zorro's boots.

The horse turned slightly and he had to grip the saddle horn desperately to keep from sliding off. He resumed his search as soon as he was stable and he nearly laughed as his fingers brushed a cold handle. Monastario gripped the knife and using most of the strength he had left, he jerked his body to an upright position. The sudden movement caused the world to tilt crazily and Monastario was forced to shut his eyes against the strange sensation. Blinking hard to clear his vision, the Commandante gripped the weapon and turned in the saddle. Three riders followed them. The fourth man was no where to be seen, but Monastario cared little about the missing man.

He gripped the weapon's edge, positioning his fingers around the sharpened blade. Drawing his shaking arm behind him he took aim and let the weapon loose. The blade made little sound as it sunk deep into Felipe's upper arm. The man cursed and drew his horse up short. Raul and Joaquin also reigned in their horses and moved to help their injured friend. Felipe was not injured badly, but the wound bleed heavily for a few minutes. Felipe's anger rose as the dark horse disappeared, his quarry fading into the deep shadows.

Raul moved quickly and covered the wound with a piece of cloth. Felipe swatted his hand away, "Leave it," he commanded. "Bring them back." Felipe turned his mount and headed back to camp. Manuel would be there, packing there few provisions, and Felipe knew is brother could bandage his arm. Tonight, Felipe promised himself, the two men would die. He clenched his bloody fist as he rode – red droplets fell from his closed fingers and mixed with the tall grass and the heavy dew that was beginning to form. These men had been more trouble than he anticipated, but he would see that they suffered. Their deaths would not be easy tonight, that Felipe promised himself.

**ZZZ**

Alejandro felt older than his years as he trudged the last few steps to his bedroom. He could not remember the stairs being so long or the nights being so dark. Garcia had left them with a sad heart and teary eyes. Miguel's family had not expected to see Sergeant Garcia at the door or the caballero's who stood behind him. Miguel's mother stood there for a brief second, her face drained of all color, before she swooned. She was caught in the strong arms of her husband and laid across their small bed, the women of the house hovering around her, their own tears coursing down their cheeks. Miguel's father nodded sadly and asked the three men to follow him outside. His youngest son followed, his boyish features set in a hard line, as though he was physically willing the tears away. Alejandro told the story softly and quickly. Pablo shook his head sadly when Alejandro came to a stop. The young boy had turned away when the tale came to his brother, and no matter how rigid his face and body was he could not stop the quiet tears that slipped from dark brown eyes. Pablo reached out an arm and wrapped it around his youngest child and the boy buried his face in his father's shoulder.

Garcia swallowed back his own tears and nodded. He dared not speak for fear that his voice would fail him. The men left the family to grieve. Garcia was unusually silent but Alejandro could not find the words to comfort him. His own heart was heavy with worry and grief as well. He had known both Miguel and Pedro and they were both fine young men who would be missed. The bandits would pay for what they had done. Alejandro felt certain justice would win, and he would feel no pity if they were to hang.

The soft bed was warm and welcoming, and Alejandro climbed in gratefully. Strangely, despite his tiredness, Alejandro could not find peace enough to sleep. An irrational fear had plagued him throughout the day and his thoughts were continuously on his son. Alejandro, despite his fatigue, wished he was out looking for the bandits. He shivered to think his son was out there alone. Praying softly, Alejandro resigned himself to a long and sleepless night. The dawn was only a few hours away, but the night seemed to stretch far longer than it should have. Alejandro slipped into a light sleep only hours before the sun would rise. Carlos and the others would be at the hacienda at first light to begin the search.

Alejandro knew the soldiers would have found something if the Commandante had been abducted along the main road, so there were only a few paths the Capitán could have traveled. Since they were starting out at the de la Vega ranch, the group had decided to start with the old highway and go from there. Little did Alejandro know that the men were no longer near the road, but were only a few miles from the hacienda, in a desperate flight to find their two missing captives.

**TBC**

_A/N: Thanks to all those who reviewed._


	6. Chapter 6

Monastario could not stop his stomach from rebelling, and leaning against a tree he stood shaking as he lost what little he had eaten earlier in the day. He had gained precious time after his desperate throw and in the dark trees he had lost the two men. An hour later he had stopped at a small overhang - vines snaked around the opening, clinging to the rock and trees, and the entrance was nearly hidden. Monastario had found the opening on accident when he had stopped the horse for fear of falling. His legs could not support him when he dismounted and he had stumbled, his body hitting the ground hard, his left hand brushing the vines and the open entry beyond.

It took him several minutes to catch his breath and stand. Moving slowly he moved to the horse and shook Zorro's leg. The man stirred and Monastario moved to the other side. He gently slapped the masked face and Zorro opened his eyes. He stared a moment at Monastario before he groaned and closed his eyes once again. "No…I can not get you off this horse alone," the Commandante whispered roughly.

Zorro opened his eyes again and nodded. The position was uncomfortable and his body felt numb. He shifted his weight and nausea swept through him, but he kept the reaction in check. Monastario stumbled back around the seemingly large horse and grabbed Zorro's legs and waist. Zorro pushed with his hands and the two men fell in a heap beside the horse. Both men lay there not caring how uncomfortable their positions were. After what seemed a long time Monastario moved. He staggered to a tree and leaned against the cool bark.

Zorro pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked around. He could not recall how he had ended up slung over a horse, but he knew Monastario could tell him. Zorro was certain the bandits were still behind them, though he had no memory of what occurred after his fight with Felipe. He had a vague impression of the desperate ride, but all he could really recall was the strange disconnected feeling that still had not fully departed. A noise to his left drew his attention and he saw Monastario retching into the tall grass. Ignoring his stiff and tired muscles, and the throbbing pain in his shoulder and head, Zorro pushed himself to his feet.

He swayed for a moment before he fully gathered his shaking legs beneath him. The distance did not look as far as it felt as Zorro cautiously moved across the uneven ground. His legs felt heavy and tired, his head ached and all he wanted to do was sleep, but he knew the danger that lay behind them and with an effort born from sheer force of will, Zorro forced his body to work.

Monastario jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. He was surprised to see Zorro behind him. If he had the strength to waste, Monastario would have laughed. Zorro was dirty, sweaty, bruised and battered, his bandanna was slightly crooked and his cape was torn and dusty. His shirt was stained with blood and dirt and his pants were torn just above his left boot. In his mind, Zorro was always a Caballero – he was too well groomed and mannered not to be. Now he saw a disheveled and wounded man, barely able to stand on his own volition. If they ever escaped alive, Monastario would never see Zorro in the same light.

Ignoring the hand on his shoulder, Monastario pushed away from the tree and swiped a sleeve across his mouth. He could not remember a time when a simple drink of water was foremost in his thoughts. He spit to rid his mouth of the unpleasant taste and resigned himself to the fact that he could do nothing about it. Zorro's voice reached his ears and he turned to face the man.  
"Where are we?" Zorro asked simply, and Monastario flushed with embarrassment because he had no idea where they were. He had not been paying attention as they rode and in his wild and unplanned flight he cared little about the direction they were heading so long as it was away from Felipe and his men.

"It does not matter," Zorro said as he finally looked at their surroundings. They were in a dense cluster of trees, shadowed and dark in the cold air. Zorro shivered against a strong gust of cool air and in the distance he thought he heard the rumble of thunder. "We need to find some dry shelter and rest for a while." Zorro looked through the treetops at the dark sky – the moon was completely covered by clouds and there was the heavy feel of moisture in the air.

Monastario glanced at the overhang and tentatively pulled back the vines. He could not see inside the opening. He took a careful step into the recess and ducked his head to avoid catching his forehead on the entrance. The area was narrow but it was deep and Monastario knew it would provide the shelter they needed. He could not see the entrance from where he was and he knew that it would take sheer luck to find the opening, just as he had accidentally fallen into the gap earlier.

The Commandante hurried outside as he heard Zorro calling his name in a deep whisper. A twig snapped and Zorro swirled quickly. He exhaled a sigh of relief as Monastario stepped out of the shadows and into the pale light offered by the covered moon. "There is a small cave behind the vines. We can stay the night there and tomorrow we can try to get back to the pueblo. I am sure Sergeant Garcia has sent out the troops by now. There should be soldiers somewhere close."

Zorro nodded and moved to the horse. He took off the saddlebag and blanket and slapped the beast on the rump. The startled animal took off between trees. Monastario moved to catch the horse but stopped a moment later. He turned on Zorro – his fury and pain tumbled out in an incoherent rant as he stood face to face with El Zorro. Monastario jabbed his fist into Zorro's wounded shoulder and the man gasped as pain flooded through his system. Monastario stood shocked as Zorro sank to a knee as one hand was pressed to his shoulder; the other made a fist in the dirt.

Monastario stood there staring until the man stood again. The Capitán noticed Zorro's face was pale, though his cheeks seemed flushed. "Perhaps those men will track the horse and not us. The animal could not hide in the alcove you found. And I don't think I have the strength to mount the horse if we kept him. We can hide better if we walk then if we are on horseback."

Grudgingly Monastario shook his head in agreement. Zorro's reasoning seemed sound, but Monastario knew he could not walk home in his condition, though he refused to admit it out loud. Zorro picked up the saddlebag and the blanket and ducked below the rock ceiling, the vines tickled his cheek as he passed, but he ignored the sensation as he sank to the dry floor. Monastario followed shortly after and he knelt at the far wall, his back pressed against something sharp so he shifted his weight before settling down.

Zorro had his eyes closed and his head titled back, resting against the cool stones. The saddlebag and blanket lay in the middle of the shallow cave, tossed haphazardly as Zorro moved to the wall. Monastario knew one of them should check the saddlebag but he did not have the strength. Both men fell asleep leaning against the rock wall, their knees drawn up and their head resting on their crossed arms. It would be the sound of horses and men that would wake them, but for now, both men slept deeply, their injuries taking a heavy toll on the normally stalwart figures.

**ZZZ**

Felipe fumed as his brother wrapped his injured arm. The wound was not serious but it burned and Felipe swore he would make the Capitán and Zorro pay for what they had done. If they thought their deaths would be slow to begin with, Felipe promised himself he would make them suffer as long as possible.

Manuel shivered at the look on his older brother's face. He had never seen Felipe so cold, his eyes were nearly black and they reflected the small fire Manuel had built. His jaw was set as though he was clenching his teeth and his brow was furrowed creating deep creases that ran between his dark eyebrows. Manuel looked away and for the hundredth time since they started this crazy plan he wished he was home, safe in a warm house with fresh tortillas and corn, and a soft bed to sleep on, but he knew his brother would not listen to his complaints so he held his tongue and continued his work.

It was nearly an hour later before Felipe and Manuel mounted their horses. Manuel knew that both Monastario and Zorro were not men who would lie idle and wait for what would come. They had both proven that all ready with their escape. And years ago both of these men had shown that they were tenacious and driven. It had taken Zorro several days to track them and Manuel knew that the soldiers were not far behind because they had only been a mile down the road when Zorro had handed the four thieves over before he had turned and raced his black stallion back across the hills.

Manuel did not want to face that again. He had been beaten close to death and the experience had terrified him. He knew Felipe was getting revenge for what had happened, playing his own twisted game of justice, but Manuel was not certain they had been treated in the wrong. Yes, he should not have been beaten, but they were wanted men and none of them had acted innocent, instead they had thwarted every attempt at a peaceful ride to the pueblo. It had simply been Manuel who had drawn the short straw and in turn the ire of the soldiers, or at least one man, who Manuel knew had been discharged from service shortly after. He had tried to put the experience behind him, but now Felipe was determined to see his vengeance carried out, and Manuel could only pray that he was not the victim once again. He had a strange feeling that fate would not play into their hands, but Felipe would not listen, especially after the latest incident, and Manuel knew he would not leave his brother until this was finished. Felipe would not rest until both Zorro and Monastario were dead, he knew. Manuel rubbed his left arm as another shiver raced down his spine and limbs. No, he was certain things would not turn out as Felipe had planned, and he prayed that Felipe and his friends would escape this game Felipe had dragged them into.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

Monastario awoke to the persistent hammering of rain against the stone walls and the slim trees outside. The small cave was dark and the air felt heavy and damp, and for a moment, until he cleared the fog from his brain, he panicked as his hand touched the cool stone surface. A sudden feeling of claustrophobia stole his breath and he scrambled to his hands and knees, his dark eyes wide as they tried to peer through the darkness. A flash of lightning cast the enclosure in white light and he blinked against the sudden intrusion. As the small cave was swathed in light Monastario could make out the figure against the other wall. He breathes steadied as he realized it was Zorro lying on the ground.

The light faded, but Monastario kept his eyes on Zorro. Another bolt of lightning illuminated the dank space and Monastario could see that Zorro was stretched out on the dirt floor, his cape wrapped tightly around his shivering form, his head pillowed on his arms.

Monastario stared at the sleeping man and his mind focused on the mask. The Capitan was almost certain that Diego's face was hidden behind the black cloth. He shifted his gaze as the light faded and sunk deeper against the dirt and stone of the cave. His body ached and he found himself wishing for his bed at the cuartel. He found his eyes drawn once again to the masked man and as a third bolt of light cut through the dark, he moved toward the sleeping figure. He cursed softly as his knee caught the saddlebag and he moved it to the side before he continued crawling. The enclosure was nearly completely black and Monastario had to wait for the next flash of lightning before he continued.

He sat in front of Zorro and stared for a moment. His hand shook as he moved it toward the masked face. His fingers brushed the cloth just as Zorro shifted. Monastario jerked his hand away and held still until Zorro stopped moving. In the blackness, Monastario could only guess where the mask tied. He shook his head and decided that he would simply pull the bandana and mask completely off when the next flash brightened the room. The thunder seemed exceptionally loud and just as his fingers brushed the silken cloth Zorro jerked awake. In the brief moment that Zorro's face was visible, Monastario saw confusion and pain in the hazel eyes and he for an instant he felt ashamed of what he was about to do, but the feeling faded with the light and he sat back on his haunches.

"What…." Zorro mumbled as he struggled to sit up. The Commandante leaned forward and placing a hand on Zorro's shoulder he helped the man rise. The sudden intake of breath alerted Monastario that Zorro was still in a lot of pain, and that worried the Capitán. He was relying on Zorro to help him escape. He doubted he could find his way to the pueblo without Felipe finding him if Zorro did not aid him.

"We need a fire," Monastario mumbled aloud. He could hear Zorro shifting his weight and he wondered if the man heard him.

Zorro's voice seemed soft when he spoke and Monastario couldn't help but wonder how truly serious Zorro's injuries might be. "Saddle bag?"

Monastario turned and crawling several feet he grabbed the saddle bag. He emptied the contents on the dirt floor and felt around, identifying the objects with his hands. There was nothing in the bag that could help them start a fire and feeling defeated Monastario moved back to Zorro's side. "There is nothing to start a fire with tonight. We must wait until the storm passes and the morning comes. Then we will look to our wounds and leave as soon as possible. Felipe and the others are likely hiding from the storm and until it stops we should be safe. Rest now. Come morning there will be little time to sleep."

Zorro did not answer but Monastario was certain the man nodded before stretching out once more. Monastario remembered the blanket and grabbing it he wrapped it around his shoulders and using the saddle bag as a pillow he drifted off to sleep the sound of rain and thunder a muted background to his dreams.

Morning came early and the air smelled rich and clean as Monastario left the enclosure. Zorro was still sleeping, and Monastario had left him there while he went to look outside. The earth was soggy and water pooled in large puddles across the ground. He could see and hear nothing of his pursuers and assured that they were safe for the time being he returned to Zorro's side and gently shook the man awake.

Zorro stirred slowly and sat up, his back against the stone wall. "Is the storm over?"

Monastario glanced towards the opening, "Sí. We should be going. Let me look at your injuries first. There are some clean bandages in the saddle bag."

Zorro shook his head and stood. His legs ached and his shoulder felt stiff, but he knew they had little time to get out of here. Felipe and the others would not stop until they had found them. "I am fine. Grab the bag and let's get moving."

Monastario watched as Zorro ducked his head and stepped into the early morning sun. Monastario followed him and cringed as he took in his appearance. His white pants were splotched with blood and dirt and his black boots were accumulating a thick layer of mud. He was afraid to see what his face looked like but he was certain he had at least one bruise from where he had fallen, and the back of his head was still tender to the touch. Monastario smiled as he looked at the man before him. At least he wasn't the only one looking less than pristine, he mused as he trudged across the sodden ground.

Zorro took them on a path that led west and for that Monastario was grateful because it slopped gently downward, and the sun warmed his back. Monastario tried to keep his eyes scanning the tree line, but he found his mind wandering as his body warmed with the rising sun. He barely stopped in time from running into the back of Zorro. The man had stopped in the center of the trail and his head was tilted as though he was listening to something. "What?" Monastario asked.

"Quiet." Zorro moved toward a large tree and knelt behind it. Monastario followed him and knelt in the wet earth grimacing as his pant leg became wet and the cold water seeped into the edge of this boot. "Someone is coming, I think."

The Capitán held his breath as he listened for the sounds of pursuit. Just as he was about to stand and brush off the incident he heard the splashing of hooves in the muddy ground. Panic seared his brain as he stood and turned away from the noise. The trees had thinned out as they walked and the only real cover was the large tree they now hid behind.

"How much time until they reach us?" Monastario asked as he tried to calm his nerves.

Zorro just shook his head as he turned and looked around. A shallow ditch ran to their right, dark water spilled its edges, and a thick cluster of bushes sat at its edge. "There." He pointed as he stood and moved to the water's edge.

Monastario looked at the place Zorro indicated and his eyes widened. Instinctively a hand reached to touch Zorro's cheek and he felt the heat before his hand brushed the flushed skin. "Are you serious Zorro? I have always known you were mad, but this is suicidal. We must run for it. They will not miss us if we hide here."

Zorro smiled slightly before he spoke, and the gesture sent fear down Monastario's spine. "I can not run. I can barely walk and if Felipe finds us we will not escape a second time, at least not both of us."

"We can not hide here. If for no other reason then the water will simply make you sicker. You should have let me take care of your wounds before we left." Monastario sad, his anger rising as he spoke.

"I will not let you die because of me. They will not see us if we stay in the undergrowth. And once they have passed we will not have to fear them catching us from behind. We can go as slow as we need."

The noise grew louder as they stood there, each man determined and sure his plan was the better. It was the sound of voices that urged the men into motion. Reluctantly, Monastario conceded to Zorro's plan simply because he had waited to long for his to be considered. Stepping into the swirling water Monastario shivered. Despite the warmth of the air, the storm had left the water frigid and he couldn't stop the sudden intake of breath.

Both men eased into the water and clung to underbrush as they lay down. The cold water wrapped around their bodies and it was difficult to keep from shivering. Monastario head rested beside Zorro's and he noticed that the hazel eyes were closed. The hand that was wrapped around the vines was nearly white as Zorro squeezed the roots to keep his balance in the water. _So close_, Monastario thought amused at the prospect of being worried about the one man who could outsmart him. All he had to do was reach out and grasp the mask, and he would know without a doubt identity of the clever and witty Fox.

Almost on its own volition, his callused hand moved. The snapping of a sodden branch stayed his hand and he held perfectly still, afraid even the smallest movement would draw the attention of their mad pursuers. The brush was too thick to see through, so Monastario was forced to listen to the sounds of the men approaching. One…two…three….four different voices – that meant there pursuers were all together. If Monastario and Zorro stayed hidden they would not have to worry about keeping track of two groups as they fled. The voices stayed faint, as though the men were whispering. Monastario wished fervently that he could see as the men approached. His instincts told him to take flight, but he fought the urge even as the brush before him shook as a boot caught the edge of a limb.

**TBC**

_A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating, but I have been extremely busy at work and simply haven't had the time I wanted to write. I will try to update soon to make up for it, definelty within the next two weeks, and hopefully (crosses fingers) within the next week. Thanks for all the reviews._


	8. Chapter 8

Normally, Alejandro would relish the crimson sunrise, but this morning his mind was too preoccupied to notice the stunning visage. He had been up before the first rays of light had struck the tall pines, and now he rode his mare along a muddy road, his boots and hands caked with the dark brown dirt. Others road beside him - their horses swirled the mud beneath their hooves. Garcia and his soldiers were to their south, combing the fields beside the main highway. Alejandro and the Dons with him were moving slowly down the old road looking for any signs of struggle that had been spared from the previous night's storm. Alejandro was certain this is where Diego had found the injured soldier. He regretted not asking his son exactly where he had found the two men, but Alejandro shook his head knowing that it mattered little now. Someone would find the Commandante, whether it was Zorro, the Dons, or Garcia and his men. Alejandro prayed they would find him in time. While he would never claim he liked the man, Alejandro, like his son, would not stand for injustice, no matter the victim. If the rogues were to kill the Capitan, Alejandro would expect them to receive the proper punishment and to receive a fair trial, even though he suspected that the fairest of men would judge them harshly.

Alejandro glanced toward his right as they rounded a slight bend. The road seemed the same to him mile after mile, and he wondered why he had never noticed before. Just like the Commandante, Alejandro had often traveled this road simply because it was beautiful and peaceful. It was a longer route, but he had always appreciated the slow and easy pace it required and on a warm spring morning there was no better way to the pueblo.

"Stop!" An excited voice commanded and Alejandro drew up his reigns. Looking back he noticed Don Carlos dismounting, his booted feet squishing in the thick mud as he landed gracefully onto the drenched ground. Moving as quickly as the slick mud would allow Carlos stepped into the tall grass, ignoring the water droplets that brushed and soaked into his dark brown pants. Alejandro waited as the man bent and struggled with the underbrush for a moment before straightening and turning. Alejandro smiled as he saw the blue cloth clutched in his friend's hand. The piece of uniform fluttered in the breeze and Alejandro dared to hope that they would soon find the captured military officer.

Alejandro waited until Don Carlos had mounted once more before he nudged his mare forward into the tall grass beside the road. The going was slow and frustrating, but little by little they found or guessed at the direction the men had gone. There was little indication of the path the bandits had taken, and Alejandro was certain the storm did little to aid these men. The Don wondered idly if his son had all ready found the Capitan and had freed him and if their searching was for nothing, but he, like the other Dons, were not about to take that gamble. So they pushed their horses through the grass toward a small rock enclosure, their eyes ever watchful of their surroundings, their hearts praying for another swath of clothing to guide them.

**ZZZ**

Zorro kept his eyes closed as the vines shook and the voices grew louder. He had to force himself to keep breathing and it was difficult to fight the urge to hold his breath. The wind was loud enough to mask his breathing, but his irrational mind told him to still everything or they would see him. He didn't even glance at Monastario but simply hoped the man would lie as still as possible. He knew Monastario would keep his composure. If there was little good to be said of the Commandante, Zorro knew the man was at least courageous and would not give into his fear and run.

The voices seemed to pause as the horses shifted and Zorro struggled to make out the words that were being said. He could understand little as the water lapped about his face and neck. The brush shuddered violently and Zorro nearly lost his hold on the thin roots. He stiffened his body and held his arms as close to his chest as he could until the movement stopped. The water swirled and splashed across his mouth and he fought the urge to cough as he inhaled the stagnant liquid. His legs and arms shivered in the cold even as his body burned with fever.

He could feel Monastario beside him. The man's shoulder brushed his side from time to time and it was a comfort knowing that he was there. Zorro knew he could not trust Monastario - that the man would do whatever he could to find out who he was - but he also knew that despite what both men wished, they were relying on each other to survive, and Monastario could not afford to act rashly, so for the time being Zorro could trust the Capitán.

Leather creaked as a man dismounted and heavy footsteps caused the ground to make sucking noises as each booted step sunk deep into the mud. "This is a waste of time Felipe. They are both gone. We have seen no sign of them and the storm last night as likely washed away any trace they may have left. Let us go home Felipe. Manuel and the others have had enough. We never should have followed you."

"You did follow me, Joaquin. Leave now if you wish. I knew you could not stomach this. You have always been a coward and a weakling."

"There is no cowardice in stopping something that never should have started. Monastario and Zorro did nothing wrong. We were wrong Felipe."

"They did nothing wrong?" Felipe yelled, his voice rising in pitch as he spoke. "They nearly killed my brother. They punished us for nothing. We were starving, Joaquin. Your family, mine. All of them. What were we to do? The Commandante's taxes bled us dry. There was no other choice. He brought us to this and he will pay for it. Zorro as well. He says he protects people like us but he is a caballero. Do you really believe he cares about the poor workers, Joaquin? I will make them both feel what it is like to have nothing, to beg and scrape for everything. They will know pain and suffering, Joaquin, and if you cannot do as I say then leave."

There was silence for the briefest of moments before Joaquin nodded and mounted his horse. The leather saddle creaked as Joaquin settled himself into the saddle. He cast a quick glance around before he nudged his horse forward. The others followed silently, while Felipe hung back, his nearly black eyes locked on the retreating form of Joaquin. His hand slipped to his side and grasped the cool handle of his knife. Manuel moved into his vision and he let the knife fall back into its sheath. He guided his horse forward and disappeared into the trees.

Zorro opened his eyes and cast a furtive glance upward. He could see little save the green and brown of the vines and brush. He turned his head to the side and saw the brown eyes of Monastario watching him and for a second, Zorro thought he saw concern in the dark eyes, but the Commandante turned away and looked over his shoulder in the direction the bandits had taken. Leaning toward the Capitán he whispered, "We wait a few more minutes and then we can continue." His voice sounded rough to his ears and he wished for a cool glass of wine to soothe his throat. He shut his eyes and rested his head on his shoulder and arms. The water tickled the back of his neck and he wiggled to ease the sensation.

The time seemed to pass slowly as both men lay submerged in the water. Finally, Zorro tapped Monastario and said, "I think it is safe. We should try to get dry before the sun sets."

Monastario started to argue but as he put his feet beneath himself and stood he felt the chill of the air and decided Zorro was probably right. Without thinking, Monastario reached down and helped Zorro stand. He was shocked at how warm Zorro felt even after their submergence in the cold water. Taking a better look, Monastario noticed Zorro's face was still flushed. He doubted Zorro would make it back to pueblo and despite the situation Monastario laughed.

Zorro looked at the Commandante and his eyes widened as the man continued to laugh. _Perhaps the ordeal has been too much_, Zorro thought as he listened to the deep laugh of the Capitan. Monastario noticed Zorro's quizzical look and offered, "Never have I dreamt that I would be assisting you. Yet here I find myself about to offer you my aid. It takes the hate of a man like Felipe to force me to put away my own anger and dislike towards you. Of course, once we are inside the pueblo you will be captured and, if you are not all ready, unmasked."

Zorro smiled and despite the fever his hazel eyes twinkled with humour, "That is assuming you are able to catch me, mi Capitan. I am not to be underestimated," he smiled wider now, "as you have all ready found out."

Huffing, Monastario turned and started back down the road. Zorro trailed behind, but Monastario had lost what little concern he had held. If the Fox was well enough to wage a game of wits, he was well enough to take care of himself. Monastario was cold and hungry and he knew they had to stop soon and warm up, but his anger at Zorro and the situation kept him going. It was still a long way from night, but the air was cold and even he shivered when the wind sliced through his uniform.

An hour of walking left both men exhausted and they collapsed on the ground inside a small grove of tightly clustered trees. Zorro rolled on to his side and curled into a ball while Monastario managed to find some relatively dry wood. It would do them little good if the smoke brought Felipe and the others back. The fire was small and provided very little warmth, but it heartened Monastario's spirits as the light flickered off the remaining water droplets that clung desperately to a few leaves.

After he felt warm enough, Monastario moved to the saddle bag he had been carrying. It was still damp from being plunged into the water, but the inside had stayed relatively dry. Monastario pulled out a bandage and the ointment he had found earlier inside the small alcove. He moved to Zorro's side and gently shook the man awake. "Sit up. I need to look after your wounds."

Zorro obliged and sat up. His shirt was torn where the bullet had caught his shoulder and the back of his neck was tender to the touch. Dried blood clung to his hair and the nape of his neck and Monastario gently probed the area, wincing slightly when Zorro hissed against the pain. Monastario suspected the head injuries had caused more damage then the knife or bullet wound. Both were infected, however, so Monastario put the ointment he found in the saddle bag on each wound and wrapped them tightly with the white bandage.

His own shoulder was tender, but it was free of infection and healing nicely. His entire body ached, but as a soldier he was used to being stiff and sore for days at a time. Monastario idly wondered which man had dressed his wound. It did not matter he rationalized, but still, he wished he had seen who had applied the poultice. Without it, he was certain he would be in no better shape than Zorro.

After he had finished the bandage, Monastario repacked the bag. Zorro stood and thanked the Commandante before stepping out of the protection of the trees. The wind was no longer as cold now that their clothes were mostly dry. The two men walked side by side, their footsteps evenly matched as they walked. Neither man felt like speaking. They walked in silence each focusing on putting one tired foot in front of the other. The sound of a horse shook both men out of the reverie and without saying a word both men dove for the low brush. The horse sounded quieter than the other riders, but neither man stopped to contemplate what this could mean. Instead, both found themselves lying in the mud, their faces buried in their arms and the tall grass.

The horse seemed to slow and then stop only a few feet in front of the two men. A whinny echoed in the air and Zorro's eyes widened in shock as his lips formed a smiled. Carefully he peered through the grass. A black stallion stood before him. Tornado? Standing up, Zorro nearly laughed as Tornado shook his head as though he was exasperated with his master. Monastario stood with his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide. He blinked quickly to ensure the beautiful stallion was not an illusion and satisfied that he was not, he smiled as well. Sometimes he wondered if this horse was not smarter than most of his troops.

Zorro walked up Tornado and patted the horses on his neck. "Good boy," Zorro said as he ran his hand down Tornado's mane and neck. Zorro turned to Monastario. "Come on. Tornado will not do anything to you as long as you do not try to harm me. He will let you ride him."

Cautiously, Monastario stepped to the left side and placed his foot in the stirrup. It was harder than he thought to swing his leg over the broad back but once he was settled behind the saddle he felt his muscles relax. Zorro swung up in front of him and Tornado took off at a slow canter. Monastario felt certain now that both of them would escape and come morning he would have every soldier scouring the hills for the five men. Justice would be served quickly and without hesitation once they were caught. Assured of his freedom, Monastario let himself be lulled into sleep by the steady gate of Tornado.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

The Dons gathered around the burnt out fire. Carlos nudged a half burnt limb with his toe and watched as it stirred the grey ash. "Someone was here." He noted as he glanced around the enclosure. Something white caught his eye and he stepped around Don Alejandro. The white cloth was snagged in the green leaves of a bush. Don Carlos tugged the cloth free and turned back to his friends, handing the piece of fabric to Don Alejandro. Alejandro took the cloth and held it up to the light. It was long and thin, and a dark stain marred the center.

"Blood?" Alejandro asked, though he was certain he knew the answer. A sudden wave of fear washed over him and he looked around nervously. "Scatter out and see if you can find any proof that Monastario was here" Alejandro lowered his voice in fear and Don Carlos struggled to hear him, "Or Zorro."

Carlos titled his head to the side and Alejandro followed him to a shadowed corner, the other men dispersed, scouring the area for signs of their missing Commandante. "I am sure this is where Monastario was held. I am not certain what the blood means or where they have gone, but something tells me Zorro has been here as well."

Alejandro was certain his son had been here, though he could not say why. He had felt uneasy since they had first approached the small rocky enclosure and the bloodied rag had only forced his uneasiness to increase. He did not doubt that his son had followed the same trail they had, and on occasion the group of Dons had seen an extra set of hoof prints. A yell forced both Dons to turn and look toward the far west corner. Don Miguel stood at the edge of the clearing waving his arm. The other four men crossed the distance quickly and Don Alejandro stopped just beside Miguel. There was a small fissure that ran through the rock. It was large enough for a man to fit in, but that was not what had excited the older Don. It was the black silken cloth that clung desperately to a sharp rock. Alejandro bent and with a shaking hand he picked up the now very familiar material.

Zorro had been here. Alejandro looked at Carlos and the others as a deep fear wound itself around his heart. "We must find them soon," Alejandro whispered as he gripped the black material in his fist.

The Dons nodded in agreement. Alejandro looked at the sober faces of his friends. Don Carlos grasped Alejandro's forearm briefly, sending a wordless message to Alejandro. Don Rafael forced a reassuring smile, though he was certain the tight lipped gesture did not help. Don Ramiro and Don Armando simply looked toward the fissure and stepped into the cool space.

The tunnel was short and narrow and within a minute they were exiting the other side. The rain had washed away the struggle of the previous day and the Dons scoured the area, finding nothing that could help them. They stood staring across the tall grass, each man trying to guess which way the bandits had gone. Alejandro looked west not knowing that his son was only miles away, riding slowly on Tornado, the Commandante resting behind him. The men turned to each other and together they chose to go east, toward a small line of shacks that had been abandoned years ago.

**ZZZ**

Monastario reached a tired hand to his forehead and swiped a piece of black hair from his eyes. He had dozed earlier, but his mind would not let him sleep. Sitting so close to his enemy was unnerving and the urge to simply rip off the mask was nearly killing him. The only thing stopping him was the tiredness he felt and the knowledge that as of this moment, he did not know where he was and he had no means to travel alone. Tornado's miraculous appearance had likely saved their lives and Monastario was grateful for the horse, although the thought that he needed someone's help nagged at his honor.

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he leaned back and to the left, looking over the hunched shoulder of Zorro. A sudden smile worked its way onto Monastario's face and if Zorro had seen the look he would have shivered. As it was, Zorro was not prepared for Monastario's question.

"Why, Diego, as a caballero, would you turn to such dishonorable actions simply to annoy a government official? With the money you and your father have, you could have bought my release from service. Why this charade?"

It took a moment for Monastario's words to sink in, and when he replied Zorro nearly missed Monastario's use of his real name. "I am not Diego, Commandante. I respect Diego, he seems to be an excellent swordsman and he is an honorable man, but he does not have the heart to yield the sword everyday. He is not a fighter, Monastario."

Monastario laughed at the statement, "I saw the duel, Diego is a fighter…and from what I have heard, he always has been."

Zorro's eyes widen a little as he turned in the saddle to look at Monastario. "What do you mean?"

"Do you think I went to Monterey simply for military purposes? You see, while I was there I asked questions about you Diego. You have several friends in Monterey who were more than willing to tell me all about what you were like as a child. 'Always the fighter', they said. You were the one they turned to when they were in trouble, the one who would always lead them. Never afraid of anything, especially a fight you believed in." Monastario paused and let his words linger in the air a moment. "And then you went to Spain. You came back a different person they all told me. A scholar, a poet. Someone who would rather fight with words then the sword. But I don't think someone changes that much in so little time."

Zorro smiled and shook his head. "That is very fascinating, Capitan, but I am not Diego and I know little about the man's childhood or his time in Spain. Perhaps you should ask him why he changed."

"You can not hide forever, Diego. I will find a way to see you hang. Your father may have influence and power but it only goes so far," Monastario threatened. The Commandante readjusted his position and looked away from Zorro and the black mask that hid his identity. The sound of water reached his ear and he turned to the landscape. It seemed vaguely familiar, but his muddled brain could not place where he was, so he shifted back in the saddle using his left arm to steady himself.

Monastario swore as pain lanced his shoulder. He reached a hand to his shoulder and felt the heat of an infection. He had used the last of the ointment treating Zorro's wounds and his own had been neglected since his initial capture. He was certain the immersion in the water did not help. They both needed medical attention - Zorro's face still held the rose colored glow of a fever and his face seemed unusually pale. Monastario mused over the situation and he found himself wondering who treated Zorro when he was injured. He doubted the good doctor did - he rarely went to the de la Vegas and it was not likely he could leave the pueblo unseen.

No….there was someone else who knew Zorro's secret. Something told Monastario that Alejandro did not know who Zorro was, at least, not when he had left to Monterey. It was someone else, someone who was invisible, who wouldn't be noticed. _Who was the one person that was closest to Diego?_ Monastario almost dismissed his first thought. It couldn't be Bernardo, he reasoned. The deaf mute could not know the secret behind the mask. It was impossible, Monastario told himself, but the more he thought of the idea the more it seemed true. No one would pay attention to him, he could slip in and out of the village or hacienda without anyone paying attention. And he had been with Diego since Spain.

Monastario could not stop the laugh that reached his lips. Zorro turned in the saddle and frowned at the Commandante. The brook sounded loud in the sudden silence, and Monastario realized where they were. In that instant of recognition he acted, and reaching up he tore the mask from Zorro's face. Zorro jerked and the motion sent both men tumbling to the ground, but not before Monastario saw the shocked expression of Diego's face.

_A/N: Sorry about the long delay...I was hoping to have a longer chapter, but it just didn't work out. I will try to post as quickly as possible (hopefully within the next week). Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review! I really appreciate it. **Awen**_


	10. Chapter 10

Both men hit the ground with a loud thump, and Tornado shifted at the sudden weight change. Tornado stamped a foot and neighed as he looked at Zorro sprawled on the ground. Zorro's body shook as he raised a hand to his exposed face. Fear gripped his mind and he sat there, his hand brushing his face, as Monastario caught his breath and sat up. They had both landed, only feet apart, on the same side of Tornado and now Monastario reached out and took Zorro by the shoulder.

Zorro felt the pressure on his arm but did nothing. Anger at his own foolishness washed over him and his knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists in an effort to control his emotions. _How stupid! Monastario was always a threat and I ignored him at the end. _Zorro forced himself to take two deep breathes before he turned to face Monastario.

Monastario was not smiling when Zorro looked at him. Instead he wore a frown, his dark eyes serious as he gazed at the face of Diego. Tornado shifted uncomfortably beside them and pawed the ground, but Zorro paid little attention as he watched Monastario. Monastario continued staring; his eyes were wide as he looked toward Zorro, only his gaze was not on the outlaw, but the five riders behind him who had just rounded a slight bend in the road.

Zorro heard the sound of horses and looked over his shoulder toward the five riders who had stopped in surprise several feet away. Zorro turned back to Monastario and grabbed his mask from the Capitan's hand. He quickly tied the black silk cloth in place and then he stood, prepared to mount Tornado. Monastario moved as well and standing he reached for the saddle, but the five men were all ready mounted and they closed the distance before the two weary men could mount the stallion.

Tornado understood the threat and he turned his body so that it was between the riders and Zorro and Monastario. The two men looked at each other, each hoping the other had a plan, but fatigue and pain clouded their minds and in the end neither said anything. The riders surrounded them and both men heard Felipe laugh.

"It has been a good chase, but I fear the game is over. Luis tie their hands." Felipe ordered from his horse.

Luis dismounted and pulled two thin ropes from his saddle bag before he walked toward the two men. He ignored Tornado as he moved closer, even though the stallion snorted and pawed the ground. Luis tried to step around Tornado so he could reach Zorro, but Tornado acted before Luis could grab Zorro's arm. Tornado twisted his body so that he was between Luis and his two riders. As Luis stepped out of the way, his path took him in front of Tornado and the stallion reared, striking Luis in the shoulder and chest with his front hooves. Luis dropped to the ground, breathless and in pain. A shot rang out and blood splattered Monastario's face as the pistol ball dug a trench across Tornado's flank. Zorro grabbed Tornado's reigns to keep the horse still so he could look at the wound, but he saw Felipe loading his pistol for a second shot so he slapped Tornado just above the wound. The horse hesitated a moment before he fled, his black mane flying in the wind.

Monastario nearly fell when Tornado leapt away, but he kept his footing by grabbing Zorro's shoulder for support. Felipe and Raul grabbed both men by the shoulders and forced them to kneel. Raul picked up the rope Luis had dropped and quickly tied Monastario and Zorro's hands behind their backs. Another length of rope was wrapped around the knots tying their hands and then wound around a small tree. "I will take care of you shortly," Felipe spat as he slapped Monastario across the face. Raul followed his example and his fist caught Zorro across the chin. He took the gun Felipe handed him and sat underneath another tree. He let the pistol rest on his bent knees as his eyes flittered from his injured friend to the two men tied to the tree.

While Felipe had tied up Zorro and Monastario, Manuel and Joaquin had dismounted and were now kneling beside Luis. The bandit moaned as Manuel pressed gently on his right shoulder and his left side. "His shoulder is dislocated and he may have a fractured rib. He isn't going to be able to move quickly and I doubt he is going to be able to ride. I need to set his shoulder before we do anything else," Manuel said as he stood and walked to his horse. He pulled a pouch from his saddlebag and returned to the injured man's side.

Felipe spit into the damp ground and moved quickly to Monastario's side. His boot caught the Capitán across the right thigh and Monastario grunted in pain. Pain flared across his right side as another booted foot connected with his ribs. His breath fled in a loud whoosh and it took all his self control to draw in another ragged breath before the next blow caught his knee cap.

Monastario could hear Zorro's voice beside him and he turned to see the wide eyed expression of the masked man. Zorro was yelling, but Monastario could not understand his words past the ringing in his head as a fist caught him on the ear. His world faded into a scene of black and red as Felipe let out his rage on the helpless Commandante.

**ZZZ**

Tornado raced across the fields toward the one place he considered a refuge. The cave was deserted when he returned so he simply lay in the soft hay, waiting for Zorro or Bernardo to return. It wasn't long before Bernardo stepped into the opening. He was certain Zorro should have returned by now and worry kept him pacing the hacienda and the cave. Alejandro and the other Dons had not returned either and Bernardo was growing frustrated. It was not unusual for Zorro to be gone over night, but Bernardo could not stop worrying, even though his rational mind told him not to worry.

Any rational thought fled his mind as he looked up and saw Tornado in the cave. The horse stood and Bernardo could see the stain of red across the dark hair. Bernardo quickly scanned the cave for signs of Zorro's return, but he found nothing to convince him Diego was home. Grabbing a bucket of water and some rags, Bernardo busied himself with Tornado's care, even as his mind conjured horrifying reasons for Tornado's condition and Zorro's absence. As he worked, he decided that come morning, he would mount his own search. But first he had to think of a reason for Diego's absence. He could not remember if Alejandro told the servants where Diego had gone, so he needed something vague enough to cover anything Alejandro might have said. Or, he thought, he could simply ignore the fact that Diego had not been home since the night before.

Whatever his decision, he would worry about that when morning came. It was too late to search now – night would fall soon and Bernardo knew he would not find anything let alone anyone in the darkness. Right now he focused on fixing Tornado. He had a feeling Zorro would need the black stallion's help soon. As Bernardo worked he prayed that Zorro and the Commandante were both safe. But in his heart he knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

**ZZZ**

Zorro jerked against his ropes, the rough material dug into his wrists as he tried to free his arms. Zorro tried to use his legs to trip Felipe, but the bandit simply sidestepped out of reach. Monastario was barely conscious when Felipe stepped back and grinned at his work. "Even if you escape, you will not leave him here. And now, he cannot travel with you. After we take care of Luis I will be back for you Zorro. Tomorrow morning both of you will die. Make peace with God if you think it will help save your soul, but I doubt he can be helped," Felipe said as he nodded toward the bleeding figure of Monastario. "Cherish the sunrise when it comes, mi amigos."

Zorro glared at the man as Felipe turned and walked away. Before today Zorro had only truly hated two men, but Felipe had just been added to the list, and perhaps, Zorro thought he hated this man more than he had Ignacio and his brother Benicio. Zorro growled in frustration as he continued to work on his bonds. The rope was thin but strong and Zorro's wrist stung from where the rope cut into his skin. He could feel blood trickling across his palms, but he ignored the pain and continued struggling. His efforts were fueled by the beaten figure beside him.

He had to free his hands or tomorrow, both he and the Capitán would die, and then his secret would mean nothing. Zorro paused momentarily as he glanced as the bruised face of the Commandante. If they made it back, Monastario would have him arrested and likely hung within a day of his recovery. Because he was a Don from a prominent family, there would have to be a trial, Zorro reasoned with himself. He knew that he still had a chance if someone other than Monastario ruled over the court. Monastario was the only one to see his face, and maybe Diego could convince whoever sat in judgment that Monastario was simply desperate to capture Zorro. But Diego was not convinced he would be free after he escaped.

He threw those thoughts aside and continued working on freeing his hands. Tomorrow would arrive soon and Zorro knew he had only hours to come up with a plan to free both himself and Monastario if they were going to escape at night. The evening was coming to a close and the west had begun to turn shades of red and deep purple. Zorro closed his eyes against the image and the pain in his arms, and prayed that his strength alone could save them both.

**TBC**

_A/N: Thanks for all the comments and reviews. As always, it is greatly appreciated. Just so you know, there aren't very many chapters left to this story (probably only a few, unless they are short like the last two). I will try to update as soon as possible, but it will probably be a couple of weeks before I get a chance. But I will do my best to update sooner if at all possible. Awen_


	11. Chapter 11

Alejandro grunted in frustration as the group of men stopped their horses and looked westward. The sun was beginning to set behind the line of trees. The shacks had been empty, mere shells of broken boards and rotting furniture. No one had been in the shacks for some time and it was doubtful that anyone would be in them in the near future. They had chosen wrong. The thought angered Alejandro and he slapped his hand on the pommel of his saddle. The delay might very well cost the life of the Commandante, and if the blood and torn cloth was any indication, his son as well.

Alejandro cursed the growing darkness in the east and turned his mount west. The hacienda lay in that direction and the men were tired. They all needed a few hours of rest and some time to think. "We shall ride to my hacienda. A decent meal and an hour or two of rest and then we will start our search over. They are out here, we must find them."

The men nodded and the group headed toward the de la Vega ranch. The sun was nearly gone by the time they reached the gates and every man was glad to step out of the saddle, even if it was only for an hour or so. Alejandro was met at the door by Bernardo. The man's face was hard to read, but Alejandro was certain he saw fear in his eyes. Bernardo barely let Alejandro into the hacienda before he grabbed his leave and pulled him toward the library.

"Wait, Bernardo. I must have the cooks prepare a quick meal. We do not have much time." Alejandro said as he shook his head and continued toward the kitchen. "Maria. Maria."

A dark haired woman appeared and Alejandro gave her quick instructions. She nodded her head before she turned and went back through the oaken door she had just emerged from. Within moments, Alejandro could hear the sound of clattering bowls and spoons and smiled at the sound. He knew within a short time period there would be food and drink for his guests.

Another desperate tug on his jacket forced Alejandro to turn his head. Bernardo grabbed his other sleeve and nearly dragged the bewildered Don into the library. "Bernardo, what is the matter with you. I don't have time for…" Alejandro did not finish. Something in Bernardo's face told Alejandro to follow him. Without another word, both men slipped through the opening in the bookcase into the cool damp air of the cave.

Alejandro was not prepared to see Tornado in the cave and the sudden image of the black stallion left the aging Don shaken. Slowly, he moved toward the horse and ran his hand along the wound. Although he knew the answer Alejandro could not stop himself from asking, "Was he with Tornado?"

Bernardo's wide-eyed expression and vigorous head shake told Alejandro that his son was somewhere without Tornado, possibly injured and no doubt searching for the missing Capitan and the bandits. Alejandro knew it was selfish, and that his son was no less important than Monastario, but as he left the cool darkness of the cave he decided that they had little time to plot and plan. By sunrise, or perhaps sooner, Alejandro knew, Monastario and his son could be dead. No, he decided, they did not have a couple of hours to rest. He would give the men one hour to eat and rest, and then they would search to the west. Somewhere in the hills he would find his son and the Commandante. He just prayed they would be alive when he found them.

**ZZZ**

Sweat stung his eyes as Zorro continued to work on his bonds. The rope was beginning to fray and Zorro increased his efforts even though he had long ago lost the feeling in his hands. The pain that had burned before was only a dull ache now and his arms felt heavy. His shoulder was stiff and painful and his mind felt muddled.

Monastario was still beside him - his breathes shallow and his face flushed. A moan escaped the Capitan's dry lips and Zorro paused in his efforts only long enough to see that Joaquin was still sitting with his back to them. Not once had the man glanced in their direction, instead he kept his eyes focused on something beyond the campfires circle of light. Zorro was certain this was the man who had argued with Felipe earlier. Perhaps he could be reasoned with - he did not seem too keen on the current situation. But neither did he seem willing to help. The man would not come close to the pair, nor would he even look at them. Shrugging his stiff shoulders, Zorro started back on his work. He swung his arms back and forth, allowing the rope to slide across the bark of the tree. The tree was smoother than Zorro liked, but it was slowly getting the job done. They would be switching guards soon, Zorro was certain, and hedid not doubt that the next man would be more watchful.

The sun had set hours ago and the sky was dark and cloudless. The previous storms had passed and the air felt cool and crisp. Stars dotted the sky and Zorro found himself looking up, his eyes searching out the different constellations. The moon was just rising when Joaquin suddenly stood and turned. The movement startled Zorro and he stopped, his body stilled as Joaquin moved to his side.

The man drew his knife and Zorro felt fear rise in his throat. He could not stop this man if he decided to take advantage of their tied up position. He held his breath as Joaquin knelt beside him. Zorro could not stop the small groan that slipped past his throat as his arms fell to his side. It took a moment for him to comprehend what just happened, but when his mind grasped the implications of what Joaquin had just done, he scrambled quickly to his feet. Joaquin was all ready moving to cut the ropes on Monastario's wrists when Zorro bent and gently touched the Commandante's face. His cheeks were flushed and he was sweating. Bruises and scrapes peeked from beneath his torn uniform and Zorro knew he would be of little help. Zorro's own arms were burning as sensation worked its way back into his limbs. He rolled his shoulders a few times to loosen the kinks.

Joaquin moved off a few paces and scooped up a water skin and a small satchel that had been lying in a pile along with the extra supplies the bandits had with them.. He handed both items to Zorro, "There isn't much but it should get you through the night. You must hurry. Raul will wake up soon…".

Zorro nodded as he slung the satchel and water skin over his head. His left arm was tense as he slipped it through the opening of the strap. "Why?" Zorro asked as he squatted in front of Monastario.

Joaquin chewed his lower lip for a moment and cast a furtive glance at the sleeping men. "This was wrong from the beginning. I never should have let it go this far. Felipe will kill you both in the morning…I cannot have your blood on my hands. What we did was wrong and we were caught and punished. I do not blame you or the Commandante. Felipe, well, Felipe sees it differently. I don't think Manual agrees with him either, but he is his brother and he will not go against him. As for the others, they felt cheated and wronged as well. They will do whatever Felipe tells them."

Zorro remembered these men. He had brought them in and had handed them over to Monastario. They had robbed the monastery. Monastario had issued his judgment and the men were sent to the prison cells. But an overzealous guard had taken matters into his own hands and the youngest of the group was beaten badly. Much to his credit, Monastario had punished and released the soldier from duty that night. Zorro could find no reason for Felipe's obvious and extreme hate for the two men.

"Go now. I can only stall them so much when they discover you are gone. You must tie me to the tree and gag me. It is the only way. We are close to the de la Vega hacienda. It is only five or six miles east. The pueblo is further, but the road is only a mile south. Whatever way you choose, you must go quickly," Joaquin hissed as he sank to the ground and reached his arms behind his back, so they rested against the tree trunk. Zorro tied his hands securely and tore a strip from his cape to use as a gag.

"Thank you," Zorro said as he stooped and with a great deal of effort forced Monastario to his feet. The Commandante groaned and Zorro slapped a hand across his mouth to muffle the noise. "Shh…" he hissed in the soldier's ear. Once Monastario was settled on Zorro's shoulders, the burden was easier to bear. Shuffling awkwardly with his bundle, Zorro crept across the edge of the campfire and into the darkness of the trees.

The moon was bright and he sighed in relief at the shadowy outlines of the trees and rocks. His task was all ready difficult and lack of light would have made it nearly impossible. Zorro stumbled often as he walked, but he kept his body working, almost mechanically as he willed his left leg to move forward and then his right. He strained to hear any sounds from the campfire, but thirty minutes into his escape all remained quiet. Soon, he knew, he would be too far to hear anything. He would have no way to know that his pursuers had discovered their escape.

Zorro felt a stab of worry as he stumbled and it took all of his will power to stay upright. The Commandante groaned at the jerking motion but remained unconscious. Sweat rolled off of Zorro's face and down his back and his lungs burned with every breath. His legs felt tired and far too heavy as he continued his shuffling walk through the woods. Joaquin had said the hacienda was close, but strangely, the area seemed unfamiliar to Zorro. He did not doubt Joaquin though. Monastario and Zorro were close to the hacienda when Felipe and his men recaptured them.

Another twenty minutes of walking forced Zorro to pause and lean against a tree. His entire body ached and he was not certain he could walk any further. He gently set the Capitán onto the grass and sank down beside him. _Five minutes_, he thought to himself, _and then I will start again_.

_**A/N: I have made one small change to this chapter. Joaquin had originally told Zorro that "your hacienda" was close. That was an error on my part - Joaquin does not know Zorro's identity...so I have changed the line to reflect that. Again thanks for the reviews. **_


	12. Chapter 12

Garcia sighed as he sat heavily on the grass. Night had fallen hours ago and he was no closer to finding the Commandante then he was when the sun rose. Sergeant Garcia was used to messing up, it didn't really bother him, but this time, the thought of failing made him sick to his stomach. This time, he realized, someone's life was at stake, and he could not afford to make a mistake. Garcia sighed again and rubbed his temples. He was getting a headache from all this thinking. Perhaps, he thought, Don Alejandro had better luck. The sergeant looked at his men, tired and dirty, and decided that a trip to see the de la Vega's was in order. The Dons would likely help Garcia decide where to search next, or at least they could tell him where they had searched. That would narrow down the field, Garcia thought as he pushed himself up off the ground.

His backside and legs ached from all the riding and he was not looking forward to getting back in the saddle, but he strode to his horse, looking more confidant than he felt, and he mounted the animal, the saddle creaking as he settled his weight. "Follow me," he commanded as he nudged his horse into a walk, "we are going to the de la Vega hacienda. We can rest there for a little while before we continue our search." Sergeant Garcia turned his mount northeast and the contingent followed him across the damp ground and into the trees.

The air was cool and Garcia shivered as the wind rustled his hair and lapped at his clothes. He looked up and was glad to see the stars. It felt like another storm was moving in, but the stars were bright in the sky for miles. He had only recently dried off from the first storm and he had to admit to himself, he was not in the mood for another shower.

Ignoring his aching muscles, Garcia guided his mount toward the de la Vega hacienda. He was sure Don Diego would offer him a glass of wine, and perhaps a small meal to go with it. And then, he would talk to Alejandro. Garcia smiled as shifted in the saddle to find a more comfortable position. Once he talked to Alejandro and Diego, Garcia was certain they would come up with a plan to find the Commandante.

**ZZZ**

Felipe awoke to the startled yell of Raul and he was out of his bedroll before he was fully awake. He was not prepared for what he saw and for a moment he stood motionless, but then his shock bleed into anger and he moved quickly to Joaquin, ripping the gag from his mouth. "What happened?"

Joaquin shrugged and realized it was the wrong move just before Felipe's fist crashed into his jaw. He blinked against the pain as his head connected to the tree trunk. His hands were still tied so he could not defend himself. _I had better play this smart_, he warned himself.

"He cut his ropes…I don't know how. He asked me to check on the Capitan and when I bent down to look at the man, Zorro struck me. He gagged me before I could yell an alarm." Joaquin watched Felipe's face and was relieved to see only annoyance in his eyes.

"Untie him." Felipe commanded. He walked off a few paces and bent down, his hand brushing the dirt gently. He stood, took another few steps and squatted again. A finger traced a boot print in the dirt and he smiled. There was only one set of tracks, which meant that Zorro was likely carrying the Commandante. That would slow the two men down significantly. He would kill both men as soon as he found them again. Felipe was tired of this game and the two men were beginning to annoy him. They were proving more troublesome than he imagined. "Get our supplies. We are going to track down these two and when we find them, the game will be over."

The bandits had their gear packed and on the mounts within minutes and the group set off after their escaped prisoners.

Joaquin hung back from the group. He let his horse pick its own way through the brush. Zorro and Monastario had maybe and hour or an hour and a half head start. Considering they were on foot, and Zorro left carrying the soldier, that time would mean nothing. There had to be something he could do to slow them down, but as much as Joaquin thought, he could not think of a plan that would not jeopardize his own life. As much as he disagreed with what Felipe was doing, he was not willing to sacrifice his life for the two men he helped to escape. No, he thought, he had done all he could. The rest was up to Zorro and the Commandante. Yet somehow, even as he thought them, the words seemed lifeless. There had to be something he could do to stop Felipe without endangering himself. He simply had to think harder. There was a solution out there; he just had to find it before Felipe caught up to Zorro and the Capitan.

**ZZZ**

Zorro jerked as a hand touched his arm and his eyes flew open instantly. He gripped the wrist and turned to stare into the brown eyes of the Commandante. Monastario groaned as Zorro's hand clamped around his arm. Apologizing, Zorro released his grip and got to his knees. In the little light they had, Zorro could tell the Commandante's face was still flushed and a thin layer of sweat covered the arm he had grabbed.

"How do you feel," Zorro asked as he examined the Capitán. He thought the man had at least one broken rib, though he was not certain. At the least, his ribs were severely bruised and Zorro knew that Monastario had to be in a lot of pain. Fortunately, the rest of his injuries, while painful, were not immediately life threatening. He had a cut above his left eye and his body was littered in bruises and scrapes. What worried Zorro was the Capitán's fever. The man had been running a fever now for a few hours, and Zorro knew that both of them had been running a fever earlier. Their wounds were doubtlessly infected, and Zorro knew his own shoulder, despite the care Monastario provided, was still infected and as he reached a hand to his shoulder he could feel the heat from the wound.

Monastario rolled his head to the side and took a breath, wincing as his bruised ribs protested. "I hurt," he mumbled.

"I know." Zorro looked away, a sudden feeling of guilt gnawed at his stomach and he stood. He had set their water skin on the ground and he bent to retrieve it. His muscles were stiff and the action was harder then it should have been, but he scooped up the skin and turned back to the Commandante. He offered the man a small drink and when the Capitán was finished he took a mouthful as well. The water was warm, but it felt good on his dry throat. Zorro sealed the bottle and swung the strap over his head and across his shoulder.

"I am sorry, but we have to keep moving. Can you walk?"

Monastario nodded after a moment and stretched his arm out. Zorro took his hand and helped the man to his feet. The two men moved slowly, but Zorro was relieved that Capitán could walk. He was not certain he could have carried the man any farther. As it was, his muscles trembled as he supported a good amount of Monastario's weight. The road was close and the two men stumbled across the uneven terrain, their feet catching on unseen roots and rocks. The moon was bright, but the trees hid most of the light, and shadows danced about their feet as the branches shook in the wind, hiding the brambles that tugged at their clothes.

Monastario struggled beside Zorro, his face pale even in the darkness. They could not go much farther. Both men were desperately tired and worn, their injuries taking a potentially devastating toll on their stamina. As though tempted by fate, Monastario stumbled and both men fell hard to the ground. Monastario landed on top of Zorro and his breath escaped in a loud whoosh as Monastario's elbow caught him in the stomach. It took him several minutes to get his breathing under control and as he sat up he winced at the growing pain behind his eyes. He could not afford a headache now, but there was little he could do about it.

Monastario's voice was rough as he spoke, "You can get help. We are close to your hacienda or even Don Carlos. I will only endanger us further. One man alone can hide. Bring back my men even."

Zorro's first reaction was to tell Monastario no, that he would not leave him, but he held his tongue and thought over the situation. Could he safely get both of them to his hacienda before Felipe caught them? Despite his usual assurance, Zorro did not think he could. They still had a couple hours of travel left, and honestly, Zorro did not think that Monastario had it in him. The man was too injured and too exhausted. Even as they walked, Monastario would fade in and out, hovering on the verge on unconsciousness. Would Monastario be safe if he left him? The Capitán's fever was high and the man had not been thinking straight for the last hour – oftentimes mumbling incoherently or rambling about his attempts to capture Zorro.

A loud snap abruptly interrupted Zorro's musings, and he sat perfectly still, his breath held, as he listened to the sounds around him. Another snap and voices? Monastario mumbled something and Zorro clamped a hand across his mouth. "Shh…" he hissed as he tried to decipher the noises he had heard. More voices and this time the sound of horses reached his ears. They were loud and Zorro wondered why Felipe was being careless, but he didn't dwell long on the question, instead he grabbed Monastario's arm and heaved the man to his feet. Both men grunted with the effort, but Zorro ignored his own pain and flung Monastario's arm around his neck. "We must move, quickly!"

Stumbling, both men moved as quickly as they could, their feet moving mechanically as they headed toward the road and a group of large bushes that bordered the dirt path. The sound grew louder as they moved and a nagging uneasiness settled in Zorro's stomach but he ignored the feeling and kept moving. Something was wrong about the men he heard but he could not decide what it was. The masked man shoved Monastario underneath the bushes and crawled in behind him. He covered Monastario's mouth with his hand, "you must stay quiet."

Zorro took a few quick breaths to still his beating heart – he could feel the pulse of his heart in his skull and the drumming nearly made him sick. He took a quick drink of water and closed his eyes. He focused on breathing in and out until his heart rate slowed. The sound of horses was loud now, but Zorro dared not move to look. The men passed quickly and Zorro felt himself relax. He looked at Monastario and the man seemed to be sleeping. They would rest here for a few minutes, he decided. He closed his eyes and let his body relax as he listened to Commandante's breathing.

Zorro opened his eyes and rubbed his temples. His head still hurt, but the pain seemed a little better. He looked around and saw that it was still dark. He could not have been asleep very long, probably only a few minutes. Monastario did not move when Zorro tapped his shoulder, so the Caballero shook him harder. It took a moment but Monastario opened bleary and bloodshot eyes. "I have to get us help. Stay here and stay quiet. I hate to do this, but you were right. I can not carry you the rest of the way to the de la Vega's. I will return with help as soon as I can. Felipe and the others will not find you if you remain still and hidden."

"Go…I know you will return. You could not let me die now…not…not after all you have done. But this will change nothing, Zorro."

Zorro smiled and Monastario scowled at the action. "Adios, mi Capitán. I will return soon." Zorro backed out of the bushes and stood. He had only walked a few paces when he heard a click. He turned to see Felipe smiling, a pistol cocked in his hand, his body half hidden behind a tree.

"You left a trail a child could follow. I told you, you would not escape." Felipe smiled a tight-lipped gesture that seemed dark. The bandit stepped out from behind the tree and Zorro could see Raul behind him. Joaquin was there also, beside Felipe, his head downcast and his body stiff. The other two were missing, but Zorro was certain Luis was injured badly from Tornado and knew the man would be useless here. Manual was nowhere in sight. He might be with Luis Zorro told himself and he hoped that was the case. Though his odds were slim, he had a better chance of escape with only three then he would with all five of the bandits present.

"You have nothing to gain from this Felipe. Justice will always be served in the end."

"Justice…you know nothing of justice. I will see my own justice." The sound of the pistol echoed loudly in the still night and Zorro jerked as the crack reached his ears.

**ZZZ**

Garcia reigned in quickly, his mount snorted as the leather pulled taut. His men had stopped as well, and they now turned to their sergeant; they had all heard the gunshot and were waiting for orders. "This way," Garcia said as he turned his horse. The soldiers nodded and followed the larger man. The sound seemed close to Sergeant Garcia. Hopefully, he prayed, he would not find his commander dead.

The road seemed long and dark as he urged his mount faster. How far were they from the gunshot? A mile…less? Sergeant Garcia was not certain, but he slowly pulled his mount in and the others followed suite. There was no need to rush headlong into a situation he was not necessarily prepared to face. Some of his own men had pistols and Garcia noted they were all checking the weapon, making sure it was loaded and ready. The soldiers walked their horses, staying as quiet as they could, their eyes and ears focused on the area around them.

Garcia stopped when one of his troops held up a hand. He gestured toward his ear, and Garcia knew he had heard something. He moved his horse next to the soldier and listened carefully. He could almost make out something, but he had to admit, his hearing was not very good. The younger man beside him nodded his head and pointed north, deeper into the woods and off the main road. Sergeant Garcia motioned for his men to dismount and the six soldiers stepped easily out of the saddles.

The men made their way through the brush and trees, moving as silently as they could. Sergeant Garcia could not stop from thinking how nice it would be if he were Zorro. The man was silent and quick and he was certain he would not be having nearly as much trouble with the roots and vines if he was Zorro. As much as he chased the man, he shook his head at the fact that none of Zorro's skills had rubbed off on him. Maybe Zorro would teach him how to be silent? But until then, the good Sergeant did the best he could and focused his energy on avoiding dry twigs and vengeful roots.

**ZZZ**

Joaquin dove toward Felipe, his momentum carried him into the taller man, and both of them fell to the ground in a heap of arms and legs. The pistol discharged and the ball dug a trench in the dirt beside Zorro's left boot. The sound seemed unusually loud and Zorro's ears rang from the noise. He did not hesitate however, and using all the speed he could, he tackled Raul. Before Raul could recover Zorro connected a right hook and the man moaned as his mouth filled with blood. Raul rolled to the side and tried to kick Zorro off, but the masked man had an advantage and he pressed it, punching Raul again.

Raul rolled again and kicked out his leg. His muddy boot connected to Zorro's shin and he followed with a second kick that caught Zorro's thigh. Zorro rolled with Raul and used his weight to pin him to the ground. He swung his left arm wide and smashed his fist into Raul's jaw and the bandit saw black as his head struck a rock. A fourth hit to the jaw sent the man into unconsciousness and Zorro pushed himself up, using a nearby tree for support.

A noise drew his attention and he was startled to see the worried face of Sergeant Garcia. Six other men were spread out behind him and they closed in on Zorro. "No…get those two." Garcia said as he pointed to the two men still fighting some twenty yards away. The soldiers obeyed quickly and Joaquin and Felipe were pulled apart.

"You traitor! I should have killed you earlier. Now you will hang beside me. You can not escape Joaquin…are you so foolish to think they will spare your life? You are worthless." Felipe spit and Joaquin did not attempt to move as he stared the man in the eye. Saliva dripped off his cheek but he could do nothing about it with the soldiers gripping his arms.

"I am not worthless Felipe. I have regained some of the honor I lost because I followed you. I may die beside you, but at least I know I kept the blood of a man's life off my hands."

Two soldiers dragged the bandits to the waiting horses and tied their hands, while a third soldier secured Raul's hands and carried him to the road. Zorro turned to Sergeant Garcia. "The other two are back that way," he said as he pointed eastward. "Just have your men follow the trail. One man is injured and the other one should just surrender. But tell them to be careful."

Sergeant Garcia obeyed and it did not bother him that Zorro was giving him orders, even though the Commandante would skin him if he found out. The Commandante! Sergeant Garcia scanned the area and saw no sign of the Capitán. Was he dead? "Zorro…where…where is the Commandante?"

Zorro waved his arm and Garcia followed him. "He is in there. He needs a doctor badly. The de la Vega hacienda is the closest place for him. Have one of the soldiers send the doctor to the hacienda when they return to the pueblo."

"Si." Garcia said as he turned to the remaining soldier and told him to be careful as he retrieved the Capitán. It took several minutes and by the time they had both Zorro and the Commandante secured on a mount, the two infantry men had returned with both Luis and Manual, as well as five other mounts. Luis and Manual were placed on one horse and Raul was tied to another. Both Felipe and Joaquin were secured to their own mounts. The extra horse was given to the young man who had given his horse to the Commandante and Zorro.

Zorro leaned in close to Garcia and whispered in his ear, "Joaquin saved my life. Tell your men to be careful with him and Manual. Neither one wanted this to happen. The others will see justice as soon as Monastario is well." Garcia nodded and conveyed the message. The six soldiers headed toward the pueblo, leading the bandits behind them, while Sergeant Garcia and Zorro turned toward the de la Vega ranch. Zorro relaxed and tried to stop his tired muscles from shaking as he rode slowly toward his home. His head pounded in time with the beating of the horses' hooves on the road and he wished for the dark coolness of his bed, but he settled for the cool saddle and the swaying of his horse beneath him. He placed a calming hand on Monastario's back and leaned in close, "We are safe, Monastario. Rest. You will be in a warm bed soon."

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. Sorry for the delay in updating, but I was out of town last week and didn't have my computer. But I tried to make this chapter longer to make up for it._


	13. Chapter 13

Alejandro squeezed the bridge of his nose and tried to will away the tiredness that was creeping into his bones. He could not keep his thoughts from wandering to his son. The sight of Tornado standing in the cave stole his breath and nearly stilled his heart and his frazzled brain had yet to recover from the fright. Alejandro's mare trotted after the other horses, oblivious to its rider's state of mind. Alejandro had worried about his son when he first took off alone to find Monastario, but the legend his son created was hard to dismiss, and the Don could not help but think that Zorro was more than a mere man, that somehow nothing could touch the ghostly figure who slipped from the grasp of his enemies with ease. But Tornado had shattered that delusion and the event left Alejandro doubting his son's capabilities.

He did not, however, doubt that his son was as graceful, smart, and sly as he had always believed Zorro to be, but the mere knowledge of knowing who the man behind the black mask was left Alejandro with a new perspective on the outlaw. He was no longer just a shadow who swooped in to protect and defend the innocent, he was Alejandro's only child.

Muted voices broke Alejandro's reveries and he looked up to notice the others had stopped their horses. The voices were growing louder and the steady thump of hooves accompanied the words. The road curved just enough for the trees to block the view of the path and the men ahead. But a hearty laugh caught Alejandro's attention. He knew that voice. And then another voice, deep, but softer, reached him and he nearly sobbed in relief, but he choked back the urge and spurred his mount forward not waiting on the other men around him.

The first sight he saw was the slumped figure of Monastario and behind him, Zorro's black mask. The Don reigned in beside the three men. "Madre de Dios." He uttered as he drew in a breath at the sight of the injured man. Alejandro felt for a pulse and brushed the hair from the Commandante's face as he felt his forehead. He turned to his son and gently touched Zorro's arm, a gesture to reassure himself that Diego was all right and truly sitting before him. "We must call for Doctor Hernandez immediately."

"It has all ready been done. He is to meet us at your hacienda. Monastario is injured badly, Don Alejandro." Zorro said as shifted in the saddle trying to keep his sore muscles from stiffening. He had to show these men that he was not injured. It would be hard to explain how Diego had similar injuries to Zorro, and Monastario would simply use that knowledge against Diego.

Alejandro jerked his hand away from the black sleeve when he felt someone else beside him. He was relieved to see it was his good friend and not one of the other Dons who had joined him. Don Carlos moved in close beside Alejandro and looked at the Commandante. He pulled off a leather glove and felt the man's forehead with his bare hand, just as Alejandro had done moments before. "He is running a high fever. How long has he been like this?"

"Several hours." Zorro responded as he gripped Monastario tighter and touched his heels to his mount. "We need to get him inside. Don Alejandro, your hacienda is the nearest place to take him. I told the soldiers that Doctor Hernandez could find us there."

"Si, it is fine. I will have one of the guest rooms made up. The Commandante is welcome for as long as he needs." Alejandro forced a smile on his lips, "I will not turn away an injured man."

"Gracias." Diego nodded his head to tell Alejandro everything would be fine, but the older de la Vega was not certain of that, but he nodded once in return and turned his mount away from Zorro before he said or did something to give Zorro's identity away. His emotions were too strung out for him to think clearly, and he was simply happy that his son was alive and well. He coughed to clear his throat of the tightness that had begun to form when he first heard Zorro's voice. _I am too old for all of this_, Alejandro thought as his mind wandered back to the previous months. His emotions had been taxed far too much for his own comfort and he was ready to lay everything to rest, including the black mask his son so often wore.

Lost in his thoughts, Alejandro was surprised to find his mount directly behind Zorro. The other men formed a half circle behind Garcia and Zorro's horses to act as an escort for the injured man. The men were all silent as they rode that last few miles to the de la Vega home. As much as he tried, Alejandro could not stop the smile that formed on his lips. His son was alive. He rode straight in the saddle, his face alight with the pride he felt for his son and simply watched Diego as he rode behind him. It was easier, he mused, when he did not know who Zorro was - before he felt no real need to worry about the masked bandit.

The ride home was quick and uneventful, but the group created a flurry of movement as soon as they entered the courtyard. Young Felipe grabbed the reigns of Zorro's horse and two others reached up to lift the Capitan from the saddle. Alejandro dismounted, "Take him to the guest room. Doctor Hernandez will be here shortly." Sergeant Garcia quickly handed his reigns to a waiting vaquero and followed his commander into the house.

The other Dons, save Don Carlos ,wished the Commandante a quick recovery and turned their horses toward their own haciendas. Rafael, Ramiro, and Armando waited until the other men had left before they turned to Zorro. "We are glad you are safe Diego. We will help however we can. Are you badly injured?" Armando whispered, careful his voice did not carry.

Zorro smiled slightly, "No, I shall recover quickly. I will be sore for a few days though," he admitted.

"Goodnight, Zorro," Rafael added as he maneuvered his horse around Don Ramiro and Don Armando. All three men bid Alejandro goodnight and promised to be back tomorrow. Alejandro thanked them with a promise of a new bottle of wine and dinner.

Suddenly it seemed the courtyard was empty except for Alejandro and Zorro. The masked man was still in the saddle, his gloved hand gripping the reigns tightly. Alejandro moved beside the horse, his hand coming to rest on the torn black pants. In a quiet voice he asked, "Are you really all right, mi hijo?"

Zorro nodded, "Si, Father. I am just tired." Zorro did not tell his father that his shoulder burned and his entire body ached and that he was certain he had a fever.

"Rest. I will met you in the cave as soon as I can. Bernardo can bring you a blanket and you can sleep for a while."

"No, I cannot. Diego must be present as soon as possible. Garcia and everyone else will expect him. What did you tell the others…why wasn't I helping?"

Alejandro sighed. He didn't tell them anything. Diego simply wasn't there. They did not question where he was though. The Dons were used to Diego's absence and did not think to question it now. But Alejandro knew he had to explain Diego's absence to some, most especially Monastario.

"It does not matter now Father. We will deal with it when the time comes. I will go to the cave. Have Bernardo bring some water and clean clothes. Is Tornado well?"

"Si, he is in the cave. It was just a minor flesh wound." Alejandro's voice grew husky as he whispered, "I thought something had happened to you, mi hijo. You must be careful, I could not lose you."

"Do not worry Father. Everything will work out as it should. I will see you soon. Go take care of our guest." Diego slowly turned his mount and rode off at a slow trot. He took a deep breath to clear his head. What could he tell Monastario that would sound truthful, something he could not doubt. Right now though, with his head throbbing, he could think of nothing.

The coolness of the cave was welcoming as he slipped out of the saddle. He gripped the leather for a few moments when his legs refused to support him. He rested his flushed cheek on the saddle and took several deep breaths. Zorro could hear Tornado behind him. The horse neighed his welcome and Zorro pushed away from the chestnut and turned to the black stallion. He took several wobbly steps before his legs started to work correctly. Tornado nuzzled his hand a moment before he tossed his head toward the pile of straw in the corner.

"No, I do not have time. Bernardo will be here soon and then Diego must make an appearance." Zorro took a step back and stumbled as the room spun. He grabbed for Tornado but his hand fell short and he sank to his knees. The impact startled him and he jerked, the motion not helping the spinning sensation that had overwhelmed him. It was too much of an effort to try to stand so he stayed on his knees, his hands pressed to the ground.

That is how Bernardo found him several minutes later. The pitcher of water he held nearly spilled as he hastily set it on the floor, along with the pile of clothes he held. Bernardo gently touched Zorro's shoulder and his friend turned his head to look at him. Bernardo's worried expression forced Zorro to straighten his body.

"I am all right, Bernardo. Help me stand."

Bernardo shook his head and pointed to the straw in the corner. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head again when Zorro tried to stand. "Please Bernardo. I will be fine, I just need some rest, but not right now."

Reluctantly, Bernardo reached one arm around Zorro's waist and the other he hooked under Zorro's arm. Carefully, the two men worked their way to the wooden chair behind the desk. Bernardo gathered the clothes and the water pitcher and set them on the corner of the desk. Zorro undid his mask and pulled it off his face. Bernardo shook his head at the tired look on Diego's face.

It took them nearly half an hour, but Bernardo had cleaned and dressed Diego's wounds and now Diego stood dressed as a caballero. The only indication that he was not well was the slight flush on his too pale cheeks. Taking a deep breath, Diego turned and headed out of the cave. Bernardo was going to go talk to Alejandro and then bring a mount for Diego, one that would not have been noticed. No matter the story, it was clear Diego was not home, so he was going to ride out of the cave and circle around to the front of the hacienda. He had to admit to himself, he was anxious about what was going to happen once Monastario awoke. Diego was not going to tell Alejandro what had transpired. At least, not until he knew what Monastario was going to do. Perhaps, Diego prayed, Monastario would forget what happened after their first escape. He was badly hurt, and it was possible, but something told Diego it would not be that easy.

**TBC**

_A/N: It took me awhile, but I finally got another chapter up. Hope you enjoyed it. I am going to try to wrap it up soon, not many chapters left. __Awen_


	14. Chapter 14

Alejandro sent Bernardo to the kitchen to tell Maria to prepare some broth and warm bread before he headed upstairs. Sergeant Garcia was sitting on a chair with his head in his hands. Monastario had been stripped to the waist and his bloodied shirt was left discarded in the corner of the room. His upper torso was a mass of bruises and scrapes and his face was pale, except for the dark blue bruise on his jaw and right ear.

The door creaked open and Doctor Hernandez entered the room, his medical bag in one hand and a pitcher of steaming water in the other. The doctor wasted little time as he moved to the side of the bed. He set the pitcher on the small wooden table beside the bed and opened his bag. He pulled out several small vials and a roll of bandages. "Do you have some clean clothes I could use? We need to clean his wounds."

"Si, I will send Bernardo for some. I will also have him bring a bowl and some more water." Alejandro stepped toward the door and saw Garcia sitting up, his eyes watching as the doctor ran a hand across the battered chest of his Commander. "Sergeant."

Garcia looked up and Alejandro smiled, "Could you go downstairs and find Bernardo or Maria and ask them to bring some more water and some clean clothes."

The sergeant smiled gratefully and stood. He was glad to have some task to do and he set off without a word. Alejandro watched as the large man left the room and the door slowly creaked shut before he moved to the bedside. "How is he?"

Doctor Hernandez did not look up as he answered, "I am not sure. He has a high fever and his body has been beaten badly. When we get him cleaned up it will be easier to see the damage. Do you know when Diego will return?"

Alejandro glanced out the window but he could see little through the darkness. "He should be here soon."

"Bueno. I could use his help." Doctor Hernandez reached into his bad and pulled out a bandage. He pressed it to the cut above Monastario's eye and held it for a few minutes. The wound had begun to bleed when Hernandez had wiped away the dirt. When the bleeding stopped he grabbed a small glass bottle and removed the lid. A glass of water was sitting on the table so he took the glass and added two spoonfuls of the white powder, slowly swirling the glass to mix in the powder. "Lift him up for me, Alejandro." The Don did as he was asked and Doctor Hernandez slowly forced Monastario to sip the liquid. He choked once and coughed, a moan escaping his lips at the pain, but he did not fully wake. After half the liquid was gone, Hernandez motioned for Alejandro to lay the man back down. "For his fever and the pain. He should sleep through most, it not all, of what I will do."

The door opened and Garcia entered with Bernardo on his heels. The sergeant carried a steaming bowl of water, while Bernardo held an armful of rags. Both men set their burdens on the table and stepped back. Bernardo touched Alejandro's sleeve and made a small 'z' with his hand. Alejandro nodded and Bernardo left the room.

Bernardo headed downstairs to wait for Diego's return. Bernardo perched himself on a bench and sat waiting, his shoulders hunched with worry and his eyes dark and wide as he tried to see through the darkness. Bernardo was not forced to wait long as the sound of a horse reached his ears. He stood and moved to the gate just in time to see Diego dismount, his gloved hands passing the reigns to a vaquero. "Gracias."

Bernardo exhaled the breath he was holding and moved swiftly to Diego's side. Diego nodded and followed his friend through the plaza and up the stairs. He entered Monastario's room and was instantly greeted by Garcia. "Diego. The Commandante is safe. We found both him and Zorro and captured the men who kidnapped them."

"Si, that is wonderful Sergeant. How is the Commandante fairing?" The question was aimed at Doctor Hernandez.

"I am not sure yet. I could use your help Diego." Diego nodded and moved toward the bed. His legs felt wobbly and all he really wanted was the comfort of his bed, but he knew that Monastario was injured worse so he ignored his own body and went to assist the doctor. He tried to keep his movements smooth and graceful, but it was hard with his sore and cramped muscles. But no one seemed to notice his discomfort, their attention was drawn to the soft moans of Monastario.

With the aid of Diego, Doctor Hernandez cleaned and bandaged Monastario's wounds. The cut above his brow took two stitches and the bullet wound had to be cleaned and stitched. Doctor Hernandez wondered who had removed the bullet but shrugged the question away as he continued to stitch the wound. Diego had never considered the fact that the bullet had been lodged in the Commandante's shoulder. He suspected it was Manuel who had removed the bullet and had initially wrapped the wound. Perhaps Joaquin had helped, but he was not certain.

The sun was just beginning to rise when Doctor Hernandez stepped away from the bed and plunged his hands in the cool water. He wiped away the water and looked at the sleeping man. His chest was wrapped in a white bandage, as was the cut on his head and his shoulder. Monastario's face was still pale, but some color had returned and his cheeks were still rosy.

Sergeant Garcia had left the room over an hour ago at the urging of Alejandro and Diego. He was sent to the kitchen for a bowl of soup and a thick slice of bread before he was ushered into another spare room. The sergeant was asleep within seconds of his head touching the soft pillow. Bernardo had also retired, though it took more urging and a promise of Diego to wake him when he was finished. Unlike Garcia though, Bernardo did not go to his room, instead he went to the cave to check on Tornado.

Diego stumbled to the empty chair and sank deep into his cushions, his head rested in his hands and he took several deep breathes. Both Alejandro and Hernandez moved quickly to his side. Neither man had taken the time to check on Diego during the long night. He had assured both men that he was not hurt, just stiff and tired. Alejandro did not fully believe his son, but Diego had learned years ago to hide his pain, and even Alejandro could not tell when his son was truly hurting.

"Let me look at you, Diego. Come. Monastario will likely sleep through the day. You need rest as well."

Diego nodded and forced himself out of the chair. His head was pounding and the room and been lazily spinning for the last half hour. Diego knew he should have bid the men goodnight, but he felt the need to stay and help care for Monastario. Alejandro and Hernandez flanked Diego as they moved toward Diego's bedroom. Bernardo had turned down the bed and the curtains had been drawn closed. The room was lit in a faint light from the single lantern.

"I am fine. You do not need to worry. Bernardo took care of everything."

Alejandro snorted and Doctor Hernandez smiled. "I will be the judge of that Diego. Now tell me of your injuries."

Diego sighed and sat on the edge of his bed. "Just my shoulder and arm." Doctor Hernandez nodded and pulled back Diego's shirt. The cream colored bandages where dotted with blood and the wound on his shoulder was red and angry, though not as bad as the doctor had feared. Hernandez applied an ointment to the wound and then rewrapped it. The knife wound on the other arm was also infected, but it was closing nicely so he simply applied the same ointment as early before helping Diego back into his shirt.

Hernandez had noticed Diego wince when Monastario had grabbed his wrist while he was stitching the man's shoulder. "Unbutton your sleeves."

Diego started to protest, but the look of concern in his father's eyes stopped him. He pulled his sleeves up to his elbows to reveal his wrists. The skin was scraped and raw and both Alejandro and Hernandez assumed they were painful. Alejandro shook his head as Doctor Hernandez cleaned his son's wrists and lightly wrapped them with a white bandage.

"You will probably be tired for a while and I suspect both your shoulder and arm will be painful and stiff for a few days, but you should recover quickly. I will have Bernardo bring you some soup and some wine at lunch. Sleep until then. Is there anything else I should be worried about, Diego?"

Diego considered telling the men about his head wound, but he was tired of being poked and prodded, and he knew there was little the Doctor could do for him. It had all ready been a day or two since the injury, so he kept quiet and merely shook his head. "I am tired though. Tell Garcia I will see him later today. Gracias." Diego mumbled as he snuggled into the blankets. He was asleep before Alejandro could tell his son goodnight.

Doctor Hernandez and Alejandro shut the door behind them. Both men moved quietly down the stairs and into the sala. A bottle of wine and two glasses sat on a table beside two chairs and each man sank gratefully into the cushions. "This has been a long night, has it not my friend?"

"Si, Alejandro. At least Diego was not seriously injured. He should be fine in a couple of days. Monastario still has a fever and I am worried about his ribs. He took quite a beating and I am not sure if there are any internal injuries. I am hopeful that there are not, but his ribs and the bullet wound will likely give him some trouble. I doubt he will wake up today. Most likely it will be tomorrow before he ever comes around."

"I wonder what happened out there. Diego did not say anything, though he had little time alone to tell me. I don't think he even told Bernardo the story." Alejandro picked up the wine bottle and poured two glasses. He handed one of the glasses to Hernandez and brought the other one to his lips. The wine was cool on his throat and he enjoyed the taste for a moment before he set the glass down.

"Are you certain Diego will be fine?"

"Si, he will heal quickly. Tomorrow I would make him bathe in some hot water with a packet of herbs I will leave for you. That will help relieve the stiffness in his muscles. I will leave some for Monastario as well."

Alejandro rubbed both hands across his face, "When do you think Monastario will be able to be moved?

Hernandez thought for a moment, one finger came up to gently tap the bottom of his lip. "I will check on him before I leave and I will be back this evening and should know more then, but I am guessing at least a few days."

"That is fine. I will not turn away an injured man. I would rather not have him see Diego until he is fully healed. I don't want him to connect Diego's injuries to Zorro's."

"That is probably wise. I don't want Monastario out of bed for at least two days after he wakes, so it shouldn't be too difficult to keep Diego away from Monastario." Hernandez set the now empty wine glass down and stood. "I am going to go check on him now, and then I am heading back to the pueblo. I will be back this evening."

Alejandro stood as well. "Come for dinner. I will have Maria set a place for you. I believe Don Carlos will be here."

"Gracias. Could you have someone get my horse ready, I will only be a few minutes."

"Si, he will be waiting when you are finished. I will see you this evening." Alejandro shook his friends hand and turned toward the library. He wanted to find Bernardo and check on Tornado and then he was going to get some sleep himself.

**ZZZ**

Diego woke to the smell of warm tortillas and fruit. His room was swathed in golden light - his curtains had been drawn back, the windows opened. Diego sat up and stifled a soft moan as his bruised body protested. He sat for several minutes stretching and loosening his muscles. As he worked each muscle, from his arms and shoulders to his legs, he went over the events of the last few days. He could not stop the frown that tugged at his lips at the thought of Monastario truly knowing he was indeed Zorro.

He shook his head in frustration and ran a hand through his dark hair. _How could I have been so stupid, _he berated himself. _Monastario was never to be trusted, yet I willingly let my guard down_. _Foolish_, he thought. But he could do nothing about that now. He would simply have to deal with the consequences when they came. Pushing himself out of bed, Diego dismissed his troubling thoughts.

He moved to the window and looked out across the plaza. It was well into the afternoon, the sky a clear sapphire. He walked slowly to his desk and grabbed a slice of apple. The fruit was ripe and sweet and the juice felt good on his throat. His headache, he suddenly noticed, was gone. A pitcher of cool water and a glass also sat on his desk. He took a long drink before picking up another apple wedge. After the fruit was eaten he washed his face and hands and combed his hair. Getting dressed was tiring, but the extra movement helped to loosen his muscles even further. His shoulder wound no longer looked red and it was cool to the touch. He knew he would be fine in a couple of days and hoped Monastario would stay tucked in bed long enough for Diego to heal.

Diego stepped out of his room and collided with Bernardo. "Lo siento." Bernardo shrugged and smiled. He patted Diego on his right shoulder and his grin spread across his face. "Si, I am fine. Sorry I worried you, my friend."

Bernardo signed that it was all right and nodded toward the guest room. He made the sign for Monastario by swinging his hand from the top of one shoulder to the opposite side of his waist. "How is he doing?" Diego inquired. Bernardo put his two hands together and laid his head on top. "Sleeping. That is best for now. Is Garcia gone?"

"Si, he is went back to the pueblo to check on the prisoners. The Lieutenant Governor will be here tomorrow for the trial."

Diego started at the newest voice. He turned to see his father on the top step, a bottle of wine in his hand. "I did not hear you come up."

"I know. I may be old, but I still have some skills left. And these old stairs were built solid. How do you feel, mi hijo?"

"Better, Father."

"Good. Doctor Hernandez wanted you to take a hot bath. He left the herb mixture on your nightstand. I have one for Monastario as well. Doctor Hernandez will be here this evening to check on him. Don Carlos and he will both be our dinner guests. Until then, I brought the wine for you. But since you are up, we can go to the library and you can tell me what happened."

Diego nodded in agreement, "But first I would like to check on Tornado."

"I will meet you in the library." Alejandro went back down the stairs and into the library. He set the bottle down on a table and went into the kitchen. He returned with a platter of cheese and small biscuits. He was certain that Diego had eaten little over the last few days and he doubted Diego had taken the time to finish the tray in his room. Knowing his son, Alejandro grabbed the book he had been reading and settled into his favorite chair to wait for Diego to return.

Bernardo followed Diego into the cave. Tornado was munching happily on a pile of oats but he paused long enough to welcome the two men with a loud whinny. Diego had grabbed a brush on his way into the open expanse and now he slowly ran the brush across the black coat of the stallion. "You did well my friend." He avoided the scab that had formed over the bullet wound as he brushed his horse. Diego cringed, knowing the wound could have been far worse. The Fox could not imagine being Zorro without Tornado. The black stallion had saved his life a number of times and he doubted he could have pulled of half his stunts without Tornado. Diego pulled to apple quarters out of his pocket and feed them to the horse. "I will see you later. Bernardo will finish combing you." Bernardo nodded vigorously and took the brush from Diego's hand. "I must talk to Father. We will be in the library if you need me."

Alejandro was sitting with a book in his hands when Diego entered the library. Alejandro laid the book down and stood, a smile played across his features and his eyes shined with humour. "You did not take nearly as long as I had thought. You have a habit of putting off such talks."

"Not this time Father. This time…I think I may have trapped myself."

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

Alejandro kept quiet as Diego finished his story. He could not stop the wide-eyed expression or the almost painful beating of his heart, however, when Diego told him that Monastario had seen his face. Alejandro sat back in his chair and tried to rub the tension from his neck, but stopped after a moment, knowing the headache that was forming would not go away tonight. Instead, he shifted his weight so that he could see his son's eyes.

The hazel orbs that stared back seemed dark and wide, and Alejandro saw the worry and fear that was gnawing at his son. Despite his wealth and power, Alejandro could not fathom a way to save his son. All it took now was one word from Monastario, and his son would be hanged the next morning.

Alejandro took a deep breath and willed his shaking hands to still. Diego did not need to see how much the situation disturbed and worried him. Diego was clearly troubled about what had transpired and he did not need to worry over his father as well. With a voice stronger and calmer than he felt Alejandro tried to reassure his son, "Diego, I am sure we can find someway to out maneuver Monastario. Carlos will certainly aid us…you have many friends Diego."

Diego shook his head absentmindedly. He doubted there was little Don Carlos could do to save him without endangering himself, and Diego knew he would not put anyone else at risk. Monastario was still badly injured and it would be several days before the fever broke completely. Diego had time to think before Monastario could stir up trouble.

"Father", Diego said suddenly, "…the Lieutenant Governor will be here tomorrow?"

"Si, what are you thinking, mi hijo?"

"I think Zorro should make an appearance at the trial. And Diego as well."

Alejandro nodded in agreement. "I am sure Ramirez would don the cape and mask again."

"No. Not this time Father. I want there to be no doubt that it is Zorro. I can wear my normal clothes underneath and change quickly. If Ramirez is willing, we can make an exchange somewhere close. He can let the soldiers follow him before losing them in the hills. And I can hide Zorro's clothes and return to your side while 'Zorro' is being pursued by the soldiers."

Alejandro thought over the idea. "Perhaps it will work. At the least, it should put some doubt into the Lieutenant Governor. Maybe that will be enough."

Diego shook his head and shrugged, not quite convinced his plan would work. At the moment, though, it was all he had. "I shall make the plans tonight and talk to Ramirez. The trial will likely be in the morning, within hours of the Lt. Governor's appearance. I doubt he will want to stay for long."

"Do you need me to do anything?" Alejandro asked. He stood and placed a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed briefly. "I will help any way I can….please don't leave me out of this."

Diego turned his face away from Alejandro. He was indeed going to keep his father out of this mess, at least as much as he could. He would not let his father fall beside him. Diego had known when he started that his activities could get him hung, but he had felt it was the right thing to do and years later he still felt that way. He had no regrets about what he had done, but that didn't mean he was going to let someone else get hurt because of his choices. His father, no matter his wishes, was not going to get involved. He had all ready risked to much with Ignacio. Diego would not let him risk anything else. Without actual proof, Monastario could not condemn his father for knowing about Zorro. However, if Alejandro is caught helping Diego, there would be no way to save his father.

Diego did not wish to risk Ramirez, but he knew he could not hope to survive without him. If Ramirez refused to help, however, Diego would not press the issue. He would simply come up with an alternate plan or he would face the fire if need be. He dreaded bringing Ramirez into this and for a moment, he decided he would not ask his friend for help. Frustrated, Diego slammed a fist against the cushion of the sofa and leaned his head against the backrest.

Alejandro did not say a word, but watched his son struggle with his anger. The Don knew there was nothing he could say that would ease Diego's worries so he sat in silence praying that his son would survive the next few weeks. Alejandro was startled when Diego stood abruptly and moved toward the door.

"I am going to check on Monastario and then I will go talk to Ramirez. I shouldn't be too long Father."

"I will go check on dinner. Don Carlos and Doctor Hernandez should be here shortly. Try to be back in time for dinner, Diego."

"Si, I will try." Diego left the library and headed upstairs to check on the Commandante.

Alejandro looked at the untouched tray of cheese and biscuits, as well as the bottle of wine. He stood and poured himself a glass of the red wine before he headed to the kitchen to find Maria. He still at least two hours before Don Carlos and the doctor arrived. Alejandro found Maria in the kitchen. She was busily preparing dessert while the other kitchen staff worked on the main course.

Even though Alejandro was not hungry, the cooking food smelled wonderful and he smiled and complimented the cooks before leaving the kitchen. He knew everything was well taken care of, but he needed something to occupy his mind. Alejandro found himself wandering his house and the stables. The wine glass he held was now empty but he paid it little mind as he strolled through stables. He set the wine glass down and called for a vaquero to saddle his horse. A short ride, he decided would do him some good.

Alejandro found himself in the orchard. He stopped his horse and dismounted, and for the next hour he meandered through the grove. He could not stop the troubling thoughts that plagued him and no mater how hard he tried, Alejandro could not think of a better plan to save Diego. It would all depend on who the Lieutenant Governor believed. Could he convince the man that Monastario was delirious with fever and because he had previously been fixated on the idea that Diego was Zorro, his mind conjured up the image of his son. Perhaps….Diego was well respected and Alejandro still held influence among the higher politicians. He would talk to both Doctor Hernandez and Don Carlos tonight. Alejandro was certain that between the three of them, they could think of a way to save Diego. The ride home seemed short to Alejandro - his thoughts kept him occupied during the ride.

The sound of horses reached his ears as he stepped out of the stable and turning he saw Don Carlos and Don Diego riding in. Both men dismounted and handed their reigns to a waiting vaquero.

"It is good to see you my friend," Alejandro greeted as he took Carlos's hand in his own. "Doctor Hernandez should be here shortly. Supper smelled wonderful and should be done soon. Come into the hacienda and we will open a bottle of wine."

"Gracias, Alejandro." Carlos said as he followed the de la Vega's into the house. Diego motioned for his father to have a seat and he returned shortly with a bottle of wine and four glasses.

The three men had just seated themselves when a knock echoed through the sala. Diego stood but before he could set his wine glass down, Bernardo appeared and opened the door, his face alight with a grin. Doctor Hernandez returned the smile before stepping into the hacienda. "It is good to see you Bernardo."

Bernardo nodded before taking the Doctor's bag. Diego set his glass down and reached for the empty wine glass. Alejandro stood and ushered the doctor to a chair. "Dinner will be served soon. A glass of wine while we wait?"

"Gracias Alejandro, Diego." Hernandez acknowledged as he took the offered wine. "How is our Commandante doing this evening."

"He is sleeping. I checked on him not long ago. His fever has not broken yet." The elder de la Vega said.

"I think I will check on him before dinner. The wine is excellent as always. I shall be back shortly." The doctor stood and set his glass down before he retrieved his bag and went upstairs. The other three men sat in silence until the doctor returned twenty minutes later. Each man was caught in his own thoughts and it wasn't until dinner before a word was spoken among the men. Conversation was kept light as the Dons and Doctor Hernandez enjoyed a steaming plate of paella and fresh fruit. Doctor Hernandez was a little concerned with Monastario's temperature and had given the Commandante some more medicine in an attempt to bring down his fever.

After dinner the four men entered the library and closed the door. Diego sat heavily on the sofa and closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his fingertips along his temples. _Why couldn't life be simple_, he wondered before opening his eyes. Diego looked at his father and nodded at Alejandro's smile. Diego knew his father was worried, could see it in the dark circles under his eyes and the way his father kept glancing at him. Ignoring the guilty feeling that had plagued him for the last several months, he spoke to the men in the room.

"Tomorrow the Lieutenant Governor will be here to try Felipe and his men. Zorro is going to be there as well. And so is Diego. Don Ramirez will stay hidden somewhere just on the edge of the village. When the soldiers go after Zorro, I will switch places with Ramirez and he will give the soldiers a nice long chase before losing them. That way the Lieutenant Governor will see both Zorro and Diego. That should at least put some doubt into his mind."

"Si, that is a good idea. You can not possible be Zorro if the masked bandit is being chased by the soldiers and you are at the square with your father and myself. We can arrive at the same time and meet you on the road somewhere just beyond the pueblo." Don Carlos added nodding his head in approval.

"It may not be enough to clear you but at least it is a start. I will testify that Monastario has been fevered and possibly delusional. That coupled with the stress he was under could very well have made him imagine it was your face he saw. It is common knowledge that he believes you are Zorro," Doctor Hernandez added. The doctor sat with his arms on his knees, his body leaning toward Diego. "We will do everything we can to discredit Monastario. Do not worry Diego."

"I want as few people as possible involved. I will not let my decisions harm anyone. I hate that I had to ask Ramirez for help. I chose to become Zorro even though I knew that one day it might all fall apart. It was my risk, mine and Bernardo's, and I will not let you fall beside me."

It was Alejandro who spoke first, "Diego, we have all made our own choice as well. I am your father, Diego. I could not sit idle and watch you die. Whether you want my aid or not, you have it. There is nothing you can do to persuade me otherwise."

Carlos shook his head and placed a hand on Diego's shoulder, "I have chosen to help you Diego. You have done a great deal for the pueblo…saved lives and brought to justice thieves and murderers. But more important you are a friend Diego. I could no more let you face this alone then I could turn my back on my own hacienda."

"Neither could I," Doctor Hernandez said. "So you might as well tell us your plan."

Diego sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Nothing was ever simple. For a moment, Diego truly regretted his decision to become Zorro. But he shook his head to clear it of the thought and began telling the three men in the room his plan for tomorrow. And when he was finished, he was going to go check on Tornado and talk to Bernardo. He would not let his friend be hurt by Monastario. Diego had a note to a good friend and a bag of money prepared for his mozo. If it looked like Monastario was going to win the fight, Diego was going to send Bernardo to a distant friend where he would be safe from the Commandante. Diego relayed his plan as slowly and methodically as possible. He was not yet prepared to talk to Bernardo. He knew it would be hard to convince his friend, and in all honesty, Diego was not sure he could do it. And the longer he dragged the night out, the slower dawn would come. For tomorrow could very well decide his future, and Diego wasn't certain he was prepared for that.

**_A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter. It took a little longer than I planned to write, but between the holidays, icestorms, winter tornadoes, and I must admit, a touch of writers block , I didn't have much time to write. Gotta love real life..._**


	16. Chapter 16

Monastario tossed in his sleep, his fevered mind created strange dreams of shadowy, fleeting shapes. A flashing blade, gleaming silver in the strange darkness, was always at the center of the swirling images; and a face, almost visible in the shadows, grey and dark and hidden. He cried out once, though no one was in the room to hear him. His only word was a name, though even he would not remember uttering it when he woke hours later to a darkened room.

ZZZ

Diego was not sure what woke him, but he found himself lying in bed staring into the deep shadows of his room. He was glad the room was still shrouded in the pale light of the moon, rather than the crisp gold of the morning sun. Diego turned toward the window and watched the fluttering of leaves in the wind. Diego ran tomorrow's events through his head. He hated involving so many people, but he felt honored by their devotion and friendship.

If even one thing went wrong, Diego knew he would most likely face the gallows. The thought was chilling and Diego wrapped the covers closer around his body. Annoyed at his frustration, Diego threw back the covers and stood. He watched a small bat flutter outside the window, its wings nearly translucent in the pale light. Knowing he would get no more sleep tonight, Diego quickly donned his robe and slippers and grabbed a lantern, lighting the wick with ease.

He stopped as he passed the guest room where Monastario lay sleeping. Not knowing why, Diego slowly opened the door and stepped inside. The room was dark, the curtains drawn closed. The small lantern allowed Diego to see the sleeping figure on the bed. The sheets were rustled and one pillow lay beside the bed. Stepping closer, Diego picked up the pillow and put it back in its place. Monastario stirred when Diego bumped the side of the wooden framed bed.

Dark eyes opened and for a moment Monastario panicked when he failed to recognize the room, but a familiar voice cut through the fog and Monastario turned to see a robed Diego standing beside him. Not sure why Diego would be in his room, Monastario pushed himself to his elbows to demand an explanation, but with a grunt of pain he fell back onto his pillow.

"Don't sit up. You are still hurt." Diego said as he sat the lantern on the nightstand and picked up a pitcher of water. Filling the cup half way, Diego handed it to Monastario. "Here, drink some water."

"Gracias." Monastario mumbled as he took the offered cup. He drank deeply and handed the empty container back to Diego. Monastario stared at Diego a moment as the memories of the last few days came back to him. He grimaced as he recalled what Felipe and his men had done and without thinking he reached up to rub his sore face. The pain the action caused ignited his hatred of Felipe and he asked disgustedly, "Where are Felipe and his men?"

Diego smiled despite the situation. The Commandante's first thought was of his pride and what had become of the men who injured it. Diego honestly assumed Monastario's first words to him would be '_I have finally capture you Zorro…you will hang next to those peasants who attacked me'_.

Monastario stared at Diego. "Why are you smiling?"

Diego shook his head and rubbed a hand through his hair. "I am just glad that you are all right. You had everyone worried when they brought you in. And Felipe and the others are all in your prison, awaiting the Lt. Governor's arrival tomorrow morning. They will likely hang the following day. You need not worry yourself. They are guarded well, Sergeant Garcia has made certain of that, Commandante."

Monastario snorted at the mention of Garcia. "That buffoon can do very little right. Knowing he is in charge of the prisoners does not ease my mind."

"Oh, I think this is one assignment the Sergeant will not mess up. He was able to find you before the caballeros. The Sergeant may not be the most reliable soldier, but he will not let the prisoners escape. I think half the garrison is standing guard."

The Capitán shook his head but said nothing. He was tired and sore and cared little about the large Sergeant. Monastario did not realize he had shut his eyes until he opened them at the sound of Diego's voice.

"He is a good man, Monastario, whether you choose to see that or ignore it. He is honest and kind. More than I can say about some of caballeros and officers." Diego turned as he finished and took a step toward the door, but he paused, his hand clutching the doorknob.

Monastario waited a moment, expecting Diego to say something else, but when the man remained silent the Commandante shifted his position and cleared his throat. "Was there something else Diego?"

Diego shut his eyes against the sudden dizziness he felt. Only his firm grip on the cold doorknob kept him grounded and on his feet. A few deep breathes helped still the titling room and he stood straighter. "No, Monastario. Rest easy. You are welcome in our hacienda until you have recovered. Father and I will be gone tomorrow, to witness the trial, but our servants are at your disposal." Diego turned slowly to face the Capitan, "but do not take our courtesy for granted."

A look of irritation washed over Monastario but he said nothing. His dark eyes narrowed as he watched Diego open the door and take a step into the hall. The door closed quietly and the room was once again dark as the only real light source vanished down the hall. Monastario slapped a fist against the sheets.

He knew Diego was Zorro. He had seen the face, the wide-eyed expression of surprise and fear, when he had ripped the mask off. And while a part of Monastario wanted to call the man out, to punish him for the black mark he had left on the Capitán's record and the blatant display of disregard to real authority, Monastario knew that he owed the man his life. The thought nearly sickened him and he slammed his fist once more against the mattress, cringing slightly at the pain it caused.

Tomorrow the Lt. Governor would be in Los Angeles to try the men responsible for his kidnapping and Monastario swore that he would be there to witness the justice that would be dealt. Despite the pleasure of seeing the men sentenced, Monastario was uneasy about attending the trial. He would have to decide if he was to call Diego out, to reveal the man behind the black mask. His pride told him he could not sentence Diego to death, that revealing who he was would inevitably cause Diego's death. Even if Monastario and the army did not kill him, there were many men whom Zorro had thwarted, men like Felipe, who would seek their own kind of twisted justice against the masked man. But the arrogant, selfish officer said he could, that it was his duty to bring the outlaw to justice.

And as hard as it was, Monastario had to admit that the masked bandit had done some good in the pueblo. Countless times he had captured thieves and killers that the Commandante's own men could not. Zorro had indeed helped the Pueblo de los Angeles and Capitán Monastario. Monastario had no doubt that Zorro, or Diego, would have made an excellent officer in the military. Don Diego was smart, witty, and quick on his feet. The thought infuriated Monastario, and for a moment he was certain of his path, but the ache in his body reminded him once more that Zorro did not have to risk his life. Monastario knew that Felipe would have killed him had Zorro not interfered and if Monastario had died, Zorro would have won. Instead, the outlaw risked everything to rescue the Capitán.

Monastario agonized over that decision, knowing he would not have done the same for Zorro if things had been reversed, and annoyingly, that thought shamed the Commandante. Frustrated, Enrique Sanchez Monastario cursed quietly as he ran his options through his still befuddled brain. Only the pain and tiredness in his body forced his mind to still as sleep stole his last thought.

_**A/N:** Okay, it has been a ridiculously long time since I updated and I apologize. I admit, I have had a lot going on in my life, but that is not really an excuse for oh, six months delay in posting. This chapter is short and probably needs better editting, but here is the latest installment. I hope to have another chapter up in a much shorter time frame than the last update. Awen_


	17. Chapter 17

Diego leaned against the wall, letting the coolness brush his cheek. The lantern swayed in his shaking hand creating shadows that danced along the hall. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, letting the air out between clenched teeth. Diego had dismissed the pain in his head and neck, knowing there was little that could be done for it, but now, as nausea swept over him, he wished he had consulted Doctor Hernandez before he left.

When the strange sensation passed, Diego pushed himself off of the wall and headed downstairs to the library. He unconsciously grabbed a book and sat down on the sofa. Setting the lantern on the side table, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cushion, the book resting comfortably against his thigh.

Diego was surprised that Monastario did not gloat about his discovery. It was unsettling that the man did not even mention it. Maybe, Diego hoped, the Capitán had indeed forgotten some of the events of the last few days. But something told Diego that Monastario was simply playing with him. Diego wished he knew what the man was thinking. It was sometimes hard to read the Commandante and the military officer had surprised the Don on more than one occasion.

Diego knew Monastario had some honor. He was an officer, but Diego was not certain how far that honor would extend, especially considering the hatred Monastario felt toward the black-masked outlaw. El Zorro had been a thorn in Monastario's side since Diego returned from Spain. Diego smiled, wondering how many times Monastario had cursed him as he escaped on Tornado. Could Monastario set aside his hate for the bandit? The Capitán owed Zorro his life, but would that be enough to sway the good in the Commandante to spare Diego's life?

Knowing he would not come up with an answer, Diego opened the book he held and flipped to the first page. The book of poetry was one he had read many times and he soon fell into the quiet comfort of the familiar.

ZZZ

Diego woke to the sound of movement and the smell of breakfast. He stood and set the book on a side table. He climbed the stairs, grateful to make it to his room without being seen. He washed and changed before he headed back downstairs. His father was at the table when he came down. Diego noted that his father looked tired, his features haggard in the golden light of morning. "Good morning Father," Diego greeted.

"Buenas dias, mi hijo," Alejandro said as he poured a glass of juice for his son. "The others will be here shortly. We will wait for you just off the road and when you and Ramirez switch places, we will all ride into the pueblo together."  
"Sí, Father," Diego replied as he placed several fruit and an egg on his plate. The two men ate in silence, neither in the mood for idle conversation. Breakfast was eaten quickly and Diego excused himself. He found Bernardo in the cave brushing Tornado. The black stallion tossed his head when Diego approached. The horse could sense the melancholy mood of the two men and he pranced nervously until Diego placed a comforting hand on the stallion's neck.

"Do not worry." Diego said, talking as much to himself as he was to Bernardo or Tornado. He reached down and picked up a second brush and the two old friends stood together grooming Tornado. After a few minutes, Diego stepped back. "It's time." And with that he turned and moved back down the tunnel to where his cape hung against the wall.

Bernardo followed slowly, the eagerness and excitement he usually felt was replaced by a frightening uncertainty. With a hollow recognition, Bernardo knew that this could possibly be the last time Don Diego de la Vega would don the mask and cape of the outlaw Zorro. In one of the rare moments since having met Diego, Bernardo wished that he could speak. Although he could not form the words his heart felt, Bernardo, on impulse, reached out and clasped Diego's shoulders, his brown eyes, wide and bright, conveying what he wished to say. Diego smiled and returned the gesture. "It will be all right, mi amigo. No matter what may happen today, Zorro will always live. And in that you can find hope."

Bernardo shook his head in disagreement, but moved to help Diego. Soon Zorro stood before Bernardo. The transformation - so simple - still awed Bernardo. He took Zorro's sword and handed it, hilt first, to his friend. Using hand motions he asked Diego to be careful. "Tell my father I will meet him on the old road. I must meet Ramirez."

Without another word, Zorro mounted Tornado and disappeared through the cave entrance. Bernardo stood in the cave for a few minutes before heading upstairs to find Alejandro.

ZZZ

The Pueblo de las Angeles was teeming with vaqueros, peasants, women, children, and old men. Many had come to watch the trial and execution of the outlaws and they were all now gathered around the square. Children ran and played between the legs of the adults, laughing and yelling as they raced after one another. The adults huddled close, whispering the latest gossip and occasionally shouting a threat to the running children.

Soldiers stood guard outside the cuartel gates watching for the arrival of the Lt. Governor. Inside the gates, Sergeant Garcia paced, a trail of dust following his path. He had sent a soldier in a wagon to get Monastario from the de la Vega hacienda. The Sergeant knew that if he was able, the Commandante would not want to miss the chance to see his kidnappers executed. Garcia looked toward the cells that housed the criminals. Felipe sat on a bunk, his back against the rough wall and his arms folded in front of him. He had not spoken since yesterday and he refused the food that had been brought to him. The other four men were eating. Joaquin and Manual shared a cell and they sat together on one of the wooden bunks talking quietly between bites, their faces haggard and worn. Zorro had asked that the two men were well cared for before he left the Sergeant and his men. Garcia had honored that request and had separated the two men from their companions.

The last two men shared the cell with Felipe. Both stared out the cell bars at the cuartel beyond. Their expressions seemed hollow and they simply played with their food, eating very little. Sergeant Garcia wondered how he would feel knowing that he had only a few days to live. He could not blame them for not being hungry, but his sympathy was very short-lived as he thought of the Commandante. Garcia looked once more at Felipe and knew the bandit had little remorse for what he had done.

Although both Felipe and Zorro were called bandits, the Sergeant could not fit both men into the same category. One was vengeful and cruel, the other caring and selfless. It seemed wrong to call Zorro a bandit now. A mere bandit would not have risked his life to save the Commandante, a man who has sworn a hundred times to see his death. The sound of horses disrupted Garcia's thoughts and he cast one last look at Felipe before turning on his heels. He reached the gate just as a young soldier was swinging it open.

A carriage was coming to a stop just as Sergeant Garcia stepped into the plaza. A middle-aged man, tall and lean, with wide shoulders, stepped out of the carriage. His dark hair was grey at the temples and his brown eyes seemed to take in everything at once. Sergeant Garcia straightened his back and shoulders and offered the Lt. Governor his best salute. The man acknowledged him with a nod of his head and Garcia moved forward to greet the Lt. Governor.

"Bienvenido, Senior. Would you like a glass of lemonade while we have your luggage taken to your room?" The sergeant asked as he looked toward the tavern.

"Si, gracias," Lt. Governor Ortega said as he followed the large man across the plaza to the shaded interior of the tavern.

Sergeant Garcia ordered two bottles of wine as he found a table in the corner. The Lt. Governor and his aide, a young man with light brown hair and dark eyes, sat with the Sergeant. "How long do you plan to stay?" The sergeant asked as he happily poured a glass of wine.

"Only as long as it takes to finish my business here." Ortega replied. His hair was wind blown and the hand he ran threw it did little to calm the stray locks that fell in his eyes. His dark eyes, almost black in the shadows of the tavern, seemed to take in everything as they scanned the room. He smiled appreciatively at he beautiful senorita dancing in the middle of the floor but his smile faded as he turned back to the large man before him. Lt. Governor Ortega frowned as he watched Garcia pour a second cup of wine.

It was not the Sergeant that Ortega disapproved, but the situation that brought him here. He was not a fan of Capitan Monastario, but he had been briefed about the cruel treatment the Commandante endured and the thought of a soldier of Spain being treated so dishonorably angered Ortega. He had also read the report that stated that it was another bandit who saved the Capitan. Lt. Governor Ortega shook his head and took a sip of his wine. The red wine was cool and had a nice fruity flavor. He sipped the beverage, knowing he would have to talk to the men responsible, but he in no hurry to do so.

Hernando, the Lt. Governor's aide, finished his wine and stood. "If you will excuse me, I will check on the preparations for the hanging."

"Si, I will be leaving shortly as well. I must speak with the prisoners but first I must speak with Sergeant Garcia."

"Ask for Corporal Raul, he is in charge of the preparations." The sergeant told Hernando before taking another drink of wine.

After Hernando left, the Lt. Governor picked up his glass of wine and swirled the red liquid before taking a sip. Ortega kept the glass in his hand, slowly swirling the wine inside. Never taking his eyes off the wine glass the Lt. Governor addressed Sergeant Garcia. "Tell me everything you know about El Zorro."

Garcia choked on his wine and stuttered a moment, "Why…why do you want to know about Zorro?"

Ortega leaned back in his chair, the glass of wine still in his hand, "Was he not a part of this ordeal?"

"Sí, he saved the Commandante."

"Why would a bandit risk his life for a soldier, a man sworn to capture him?"  
The large sergeant spoke without pause, his voice full of pride, "Zorro is not a true bandito, not like Felipe and his men. He has helped capture thieves and murderers." The Sergeant hesitated a moment unsure if he would be crossing the line by what he was about to say, but knowing that Monastario owed his life to Zorro, Garcia quickly decided to finish his thought. "He has helped the pueblo many times, Senor. And he has never murdered anyone and he only steals from other outlaws. Zorro gets nothing for what he does. He catches more thieves than we do, yet he never gets a reward. Instead, we try to capture him. El Zorro is a good person; he is not a real outlaw."

The man placed the cup on the table and leaned forward, his arms resting on the rough wood. He was intrigued by the Sergeant's loyalty and thought perhaps the rumors he had heard were indeed true. That maybe there was more to this Zorro than a simple masked outlaw. "But is he not a traitor?" Ortega asked.

"A traitor, señor?"

"Sí, Sergeant. Has he not fought against the soldiers of the king? How many times has he attacked your men, Sergeant?"

"I do not know, Señor Ortega." Garcia shook his head, uncomfortable with Ortega's questioning. The wine forgotten, Sergeant Garcia swallowed before continuing. "El Zorro has saved my life and the Commandante's life. Without his aid, many banditos would have escaped. And he has never killed one of my men. We are not very good swordsman, not like Zorro, Señor. He could have killed me, the Capitán, or any of my men a hundred times. But he simply cuts a "z" in our uniforms. He is not a bandito, Lt. Governor."

Lt. Governor Ortega smiled as the Sergeant finished. He had heard about El Zorro, knew that he was no ordinary outlaw. And if the story he received was right, he knew that he had saved the life of a Capitan in the Spanish army.

Ortega dismissed the Sergeant with a wave of his hand, "You can return to your duties, Sergeant. I will be along shortly to speak to the prisoners."

Sergeant Garcia stood quickly and saluted before hurrying to the garrison. He wondered why Ortega cared about Zorro but a shout of his name forced the question out of his mind as he went in search of Corporal Raul.


	18. Chapter 18

The Lt. Governor stepped out of the tavern and into the heat of mid-morning. The air was heavy with dust and the smell of horses. A group of Caballeros stood near the cuartel gate, separated from the throng of peasants and farmers that filled the square. It always amazed Ortega at the number of people who came to watch trials and executions. Shaking his head, he strode across the plaza. A young soldier quickly opened the gate as he approached. He nodded his head in thanks and stepped into the confines of the cuartel.

His dark eyes took in the wooden buildings, the Capitan's office, and the soldier's quarters before settling on the prison cells in the far corner. Five men occupied the cells. One cell held two prisoners. Their backs were to the Lt. Governor; their heads bent low in quiet conversation….or maybe prayer. The other cell held three men. These men seemed different from the other two - harder, more callous, and darker.

His observation of the prisoners was disrupted by heavy footsteps beside him and then a deep voice, "would you like to speak to the prisoners now, Senor?" Sergeant Garcia stood beside him and held out a hand indicating the five banditos.

"Sí, Sergeant."

Sergeant Garcia led the Lt. Governor to the cells. He pointed toward Felipe, "This is the leader of the bandits. The one who hurt the Commandante. He is their leader."

Ortega looked at Felipe and the outlaw stared back, his dark eyes full of hate. Ortega spoke to all the men, but his gaze remained fixed on Felipe. "You're trial will be held shortly. You murdered two soldiers of the King and seriously injured an officer. If you are found guilty, you will hang at sundown."

Felipe spat in the dirt, "You cannot stop me from getting the justice I deserve. I will kill Monastario and Zorro. If it wasn't for the traitor I would have killed both of them"

"Your confession will make the trial go quickly. Enjoy your final meal, Señors." Ortega turned away from the prisoners and took several steps before addressing Sergeant Garcia. "Are the preparations for the trial and execution complete, Sergeant."  
Garcia nodded, "Sí, Lt. Governor. Everything is ready."

"Bueno. We shall start in one hour. I want this over with quickly."

"Sí, Senor. What will happen to Joaquin and Manual?"

"Who Sergeant?"

"Two of the prisoners, Senor"

"They shall hang with the others, Sergeant. Why?" Ortega asked.

Sergeant Garcia glanced behind him at the two men. They were not killers, not like Felipe. Zorro had told him they had helped Monastario and it was only because of Joaquin that Zorro was not shot by Felipe. "Joaquin helped Zorro and the Commandante escape. Zorro asked me to make sure they were treated right."

Ortega looked at the big Sergeant. "You do not think they should share the same punishment? Did they not help kidnap and torture the Capitán, Sergeant Garcia?'

Garcia looked at the ground, his normally robust voice quiet, "Si y no, Señor Ortega. Do I think they should be punished? Sí, I do. But I do not think they should hang."

"And do you think Capitán Monastario would agree?" Ortega asked.

Sergeant Garcia shook his head and frowned, "No, Senor."

Ortega clasped the Sergeant's shoulder. "Let us see what happens at the trial. I will think about what you said Sergeant."

Garcia smiled briefly, "Gracias."

Ortega returned the smile and nodded toward the plaza. "Let us prepare for the trial, shall we?" The Lieutenant Governor moved toward the plaza. A cell had been erected next to a rough wooden table and two benches along the wall of the cuartel. Ortega's assistant was at the table shuffling through a stack of paper. Ortega nodded at Sergeant Garcia in dismissal and moved to the side of his aide to discuss the trial.

ZZZZ

Ramirez, hidden in a small grove of trees, sat his horse nervously. He was willing and eager to help his friend, but he could not push down the trickle of fear that kept him on edge. If he was caught helping Zorro he would surely hang. That was a terrifying thought to the caballero and he wondered how Diego could live with that knowledge everyday. Ramirez shivered even though the air was warm. He glanced at his gloved hands and briefly touched the mask on his face. No, this was not the life he would ever choose for himself.

The sound of hoof beats on the road brought Ramirez's thoughts back to his surroundings. Straining to see beyond the leaves and vines, he could barely make out a dark figure. As the horse and rider drew closer, the black mask and cape became easily visible. Flicking the reigns, Ramirez stepped his horse onto the road and held his hand up in greeting. Zorro drew up beside him and clasped his hand.

"Thank you my friend."  
Ramirez squeezed Diego's hand and nodded. "Be careful Diego. I will be ready. I'll meet you in Los Angeles as soon as I loose the soldiers. Do not worry. All will be well."

"Sí, it will be. I must go. I will whistle when I am close. Gracias again mi amigo." Zorro patted Tornado's neck. Tornado felt the nervousness of his rider and shifted uneasily. With the touch of Zorro's heels, Tornado took off down the dusty road toward the pueblo. It did not take long before the town's buildings came into view. Zorro slowed Tornado and walked him around the edge of the pueblo. He stepped out of the saddle behind a white washed wall. Tornado danced nervously but settled with a gentle touch from Zorro.

"Stay here boy. I will not be long. I think I will pay our Lt. Governor a quick visit." Zorro jumped and easily grabbed the wall. Lifting himself onto the ledge, he surveyed the small street. It was empty save for a small orange and white cat curled up in the shade. Zorro lowered himself to the dirt and grinned. Sometimes it was too easy he mused. The masked figure moved swiftly between buildings. He knew the pueblo by heart, every road, alley, and corner. Zorro could have found his way to the plaza blindfolded. He also knew where Sergeant Garcia liked to post his soldiers.

Avoiding the corners he knew the uniformed men often guarded, he made his way easily to the plaza. A throng of people filled the square. The cell was still empty, but Zorro could see the Lt. Governor seated at a table in the shade. Climbing a nearby building, Zorro squatted on the roof, watching the activity below. The throng of people moved about anxiously, their voices occasionally rising in arguments as children dashed between the legs of the adults. The pueblo had not seen an event of this scale in some time.


	19. Chapter 19

The sound of a carriage drew Zorro's attention away from the scene below him. He glanced toward the main road and the pueblo gate. Zorro could make out the blue uniform of a guard at the reigns and wondered briefly at who was in the carriage. But a moment later, as the carriage rolled past, he could make out the worn face of the Commandante. Zorro was not certain if this made the situation better or worse. Monastario was soon helped out of the coach by another guard and seated next to the Lt. Governor.

Worry nagged at Zorro as he saw Felipe turn towards the Commandante. Though Zorro could not see his eyes, he knew that there was hatred in the black orbs. Monastario must have felt it as well because he turned and cast a nervous glance toward the man who had captured and beaten him. Anger, hate, and, perhaps, fear shown in Monastario's features as he glanced at the caged men.

Regaining his composure, Monastario adjusted his uniform and turned back to the Lt. Governor. Lost in the conversation, neither man heard Zorro inch across the roof to perch just above their heads. They spoke in low voices so the gathering crowd could not hear them.

"I am glad to see you here, Commandante. I hope you are recovering," Ortega said.

"Sí, Lt. Governor. Gracias. I shall feel even better when those men hang for their crimes," Monastario replied, his gaze once more shifting to the cuartel and the prisoners.

"Your Sergeant has asked for mercy for two of the men, the youngest and the man in the cell with him. He says you owe them and Zorro your life." Ortega waited for the Commandante to speak as he watched Monastario's expression change from hate, to disbelief, to uncertainty. Ortega had little doubt of the truth of Sergeant Garcia's words. But he was hoping for confirmation by Monastario.

Monastario blinked at the question, his mind instantly going back to the kidnapping, the pain, and the fear. He hated the men that, for awhile, took away his power, his strength, and his honor. The Commandante could not fathom why the oaf of a Sergeant would say such a thing. But then, Monastario thought of Zorro, of Diego, and how he had risked everything to rescue him, a man he knew Zorro must hate. Perhaps he owed Zorro something, but the men in the cell, he cared nothing about and each of them could hang.

"You have nothing to say on the matter?" Ortega inquired.

"Those men killed two soldiers of the King and kidnapped an officer. There is nothing to say, Señor." Monastario crossed his arms and turned away from the Lt. Governor, letting his eyes wander over the crowd. His body ached and his head hurt. The sun seemed unnaturally bright and all Monastario wanted was to crawl back into bed and sleep. Instead, he scanned the crowd. He saw dozens of caballeros, peasants, Indians, and farmers, but he did not see the one man he was looking for in the throng of people. Diego de la Vega.

Monastario glanced around one more time to be certain he hadn't missed the tall caballero. He had not seen Don Alejandro or Diego's servant either. Monastario was certain they would not miss the trial, if only to ensure justice was delivered fairly. A commotion in the cuartel broke his thoughts and Monastario turned to see several soldiers dragging Felipe and the others to the cell in the plaza.

Three of the men fought, kicking, spitting and yelling at the soldiers, but two walked quietly, their heads hung as though shamed. Monastario considered the men. Felipe he hated without question. It was a deep hatred; one that he knew would never subside without the death of the man. The other two men causing the ruckus were no better than Felipe. They cared only about themselves, about revenge, and the death of the Commandante and Zorro. These two men followed Felipe without a second thought, doing anything he bid. There was little mercy and no remorse in the first three men past the cuartel gate.

The other two, Joaquin and Manuel, seemed different. Capítan Monastario hated them, as well. He could not forgive them for what they had done. Yet, he could not class them together with the first three men. They were different and Manuel, Monastario knew, was merely following his brother. Monastario tried to feel compassion, even knowing that they were both a part of his survival, one of the reasons he was here today, but he could not muster forgiveness. They were a part of his humiliation and his honor demanded recompense.

A sudden flight of movement brought Monastario back to the present. He watched unbelieving as the scene played out before him. A soldier yelled as Felipe kicked his groin, clutching at the soldiers sword with clasped hands. He flung the weapon toward the head of the soldier, connecting hilt to forehead. The soldier dropped heavily to the ground.

When Felipe moved, Raul ducked and rammed his head into the soldier closest to him. The air rushed out of the soldier's lungs and he coughed, clutching his stomach. His weapon fell from his hands as Raul hit him again. Snatching the weapon from the ground, he cut at the ropes binding his arms, quickly turning to dodge a swing from a soldier behind him. He caught the man with his sword, driving the weapon deep into the soldier's side. Raul turned and watched as Luis, struggled to fight off his guard.

Sergeant Garcia leapt to his feet when the first soldier screamed and his deep voice echoed across the cuartel into the plaza. He rallied his soldiers and watched as his men ran toward the chaos. His eyes widened in horror as Felipe escaped the confines of the cuartel and sprinted toward the Capitán and Lt. Governor. Garcia had no doubt he meant to finish what he had started and his heart seemed to skip a moment knowing that no one would be able to reach the mad man before he made it to the Commandante.

The Sergeant, moving as swiftly as his large frame allowed, knew he would be too late. He yelled a warning to Felipe to halt, but the man did not care. A soldier lifted his weapon and was prepared to fire, but Garcia, fearing his soldier might miss and hit one of the many civilians crowded into the square, stopped him with a warning. Just as Felipe neared the Commandante, a black draped figure seemed to drop from the sky.

"Zorro!" Monastario couldn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over his tired body at the sight of Zorro. Neither he nor the Lt. Governor was armed and he knew he was not physically able to fight Felipe. A twinge of annoyance surged through him at the idea that once again he might owe his life to Zorro. The Commandante scowled at the two men now facing each other just feet from him.

Garcia heaved a sigh of relief as Zorro appeared, his dark cloak billowing behind him, a small smile on his face. Felipe stopped abruptly at the new obstacle. He turned a moment towards his comrades, hesitating for a moment when he did not see them following behind him. But the contempt he felt for both men drove him forward. He lunged, a wild chaotic swing that Zorro easily blocked. Felipe was no swordsman, but the pure hatred, anger, and willingness to die for his revenge made him a dangerous opponent. Zorro side stepped another lunge and pressed the attack. The sound of steel on steel filled the plaza.

It seemed that the world had gone quiet as Monastario watched the fight. His entire focus was on the two men before him. He could not help but notice the glaring differences. Zorro was tall, slim, and agile, his movements graceful, almost eloquent. Felipe, in contrast, was shorter and clumsy. He moved hastily, swinging his sword in choppy arcs and slashing at his opponent. Despite his hate for Zorro, Monastario envied him for his natural fighting skills, his quick thoughts, and his station in life. And he disliked him for his arrogance and what Monastario perceived as a lack of honor. No man, he felt, should hide behind a mask. Felipe, he simply hated.

ZZZ

Zorro dodged a wild thrust to his head, his sword easily deflecting Felipe's weapon. The man snarled and threw himself toward Zorro. The masked bandit scurried to the side and Felipe slid past him. "Señor, there is no place for you to run. You will not survive this day if you do not put down your weapon."

Felipe let out a low laugh. "El Zorro, do you think I will live past sundown even if I laid down my weapon? These men," he spat, his weapon pointing in the direction of Capitán Monastario and Lt. Governor Ortega, "have already decided that I will die. They do not care that I am seeking justice for what was done to me. I will have your blood, Zorro. And the Capitán will not see tomorrow."

Anger welled inside Felipe and all he could see was the man before him, a man who stood in his way of killing Monastario. He wanted Zorro dead and cared little how that happened. Rushing forward, he slammed into the masked man, taking Zorro by surprise. Both men stumbled and Felipe caught a glancing blow to his head from Zorro's left fist. But it was not enough to faze the man and he kicked out, his foot finding Zorro's ribcage.

The air rushed out of Zorro's lungs and he struggled against the stars that danced in his vision. He pushed upward and forced his body away from Felipe. Gaining his feet, he looked for his weapon. Screaming, Felipe charged again, his sword clutched in a white knuckled fist. He slashed at Zorro and a deep satisfaction flowed through his fevered veins as he felt the blade slice through flesh. Zorro staggered a moment, his gloved hand reaching for his left arm. He could feel the warmth of his blood staining his black shirt. But it was a shallow wound and Zorro knew he needed to quickly bring this fight to an end.

Zorro dodged another swipe of Felipe's blade and slipped past the madman. He grabbed his sword and turned, just as Felipe once again threw himself towards Zorro. Angry and annoyed, Zorro reacted quickly, his rapier arcing gracefully through the air to connect to Felipe's sword arm, piercing the skin and sinking into muscle. Retracting the blade quickly, he used the tip to fling the soldier's weapon away from Felipe's numb fingers. A moment later, Zorro's fist connected solidly to Felipe's cheek and the man stumbled. Falling heavily to the ground, he laid there dazed. Zorro placed the tip of his sword at the man's throat. "You will pay for the crimes you have committed. You speak of justice but the death of innocent men meant nothing to you. You wanted revenge, nothing more." Zorro turned and walked away when he heard Sergeant Garcia order his men to seize Felipe and to secure him with the other prisoners in the cell in the plaza.

Moving toward the wall and escape, Zorro paused when he heard his name. "Señor Zorro, a moment please," Lt. Governor Ortega asked as he stepped toward the masked man.

Zorro hesitated, his gaze scanning the area to ensure he was not being surrounded by soldiers. Assured that he was, at the moment, safe, he turned toward the Lt. Governor and bowed slightly. "Sí señor, what can I do for you?"

Ortega smiled. "You are viewed as an outlaw by our government, is that not so?"

Zorro's smile faded at the question. His muscles tensed in anticipation of another fight. "We all know that is what is believed."

"But," Ortega started, the smile broadening across his face, "the people think of you as their protector, the righteous among the corrupt and useless. They see you as justice and fairness. The people adore you for everything you stand for and stand against.

"I've heard more reports of the good you have done, then any wrongs you have committed. It seems the only ones who take issue with what you are doing, are soldiers and government officials. Yet, even those men do not deny your skill and your eagerness to help anyone, from the lowliest peasant, to the caballeros, to the Indians. You would have made an excellent officer," Ortega said as he gestured toward Capitán Monastario. "So, I must ask you why the mask? Why do you hide who you are and not serve the people as an official? You chose to label yourself an outlaw…why?"

Zorro was aware of the silence that had suddenly befallen the plaza. Even Felipe and his men were silent, their struggles stilled to hear what the Lt. Governor and Zorro had to say. Zorro thought about his journey home from Spain years ago. He remembered being called back by his father's plea for help. Why had he chosen this path? Diego could not imagine his life without Zorro; it was as much a part of him as the breaths he took.

"Does it matter?"

Ortega shook his head, "You are a very frustrating man, señor. I am not naïve enough to think that you will give up being Zorro, not when you still feel that you are needed." Ortega pinched the bridge of his nose. "But I cannot let you defy the law either."

* * *

_A/N: I would like to apologize for taking so long to update. While I have reasons for some delay, there is no real excuse for my tardiness. I am currently working on the next chapter and will do my best to post it in a more reasonable amount of time. Thank you to all of you who have encouraged me and have read this story despite the lack of updates in the last year. It has been a long time since I have really worked on this, so please, feel free to comment or critique at will. But please be constructive b/c I cannot improve if I do not know what is wrong. Thanks again. ~Awen_


	20. Chapter 20

Monastario watched, fascinated, as Zorro stood tensed, waiting on the next words the Lt. Governor would speak. It wouldn't change anything, Monastario knew. Zorro was already a wanted man and the Lt. Governor could do little more against him. Monastario knew he could destroy Zorro, that he could end the masked man's vigilante acts, but his pride, his honor as an officer and a gentleman, would not allow him to reveal the man behind the mask.

Monastario knew he owed the man his life, and that was a debt he could not forget. Twice now, Zorro had clearly defended the Commandante. The Capitán suspected there had been other times in the past that Zorro's actions had saved either his life or one of his men's. The Commandante's emotions raged within his heart. Duty and honor, pride and dignity, all struggling for dominance. As an officer of the King, he was sworn to protect the crown; his duty was to keep men like Diego de la Vega from challenging the authority of the law. But as a gentleman, as an honorable man, he owed his life to another. With a sigh and a weariness he had not felt in some time, Monastario sagged with the weight of his decision. It was a decision that he knew would ultimately change the course of his life, and most likely that of Diego's as well.

Jerked out of his reverie by a steadily growing buzz, Monastario looked up to see the defiant gaze of Zorro steadily matching that of the Lt. Governor's steely look. The crowd had begun to whisper, the steady hum of voices rising as the tension grew between Zorro and Ortega. A sharp laugh broke the air.

"You give me no real choice, Señor. Either I give up the mask and forever lay Zorro to rest or you will label me not just an outlaw, but an enemy of the king, with no chance of ever being pardoned." Zorro shook his head and frowned. "I cannot give up the mask, Señor. Who will protect those who cannot defend themselves against the tyranny of the government?"

Ortega sighed. He knew in his heart the choice Zorro would make, but he had prayed that the man would be swayed to put away the mask. He held no ill will toward the masked bandito, but as Lt. Governor, he was not able to simply let an outlaw continue to defy the government. He had listened to the pleas of Sergeant Garcia and had heard the many stories of Zorro - a legend among the citizens of Los Angeles, a hero to give them hope of a better tomorrow. The tales of courage and selflessness were not lost to Ortega. Deep inside, he cheered Zorro, wished him a long life, and for the first time, he hated the position he now held because he knew he could make no other choice but to mark Zorro a traitor. Ortega sighed again, his hand rubbing his left temple.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders, lifted his gaze to meet that of Zorro's, and spoke. "As Lt. Governor of California, I hereby declare the outlaw Zorro a traitor to the King. As such his life is forfeit."

A gasp rose from the crowd, turning quickly into shouts of anger. Zorro wasted no time. He turned and fled, his black cap flowing behind him as he quickly climbed the nearest building, dropping behind the walls of the pueblo. He mounted Tornado and the horse, sensing the danger, reared and raced down the road. Zorro let Tornado run. His heart beat rapidly and he had to force himself to take a deep breath and to calm his nerves.

Zorro tried to believe this changed nothing. He has always been a wanted man, he was still wanted, that hadn't changed. But as a caballero, the words "traitor" loomed heavily on him. Was that what he was? A traitor? Zorro shook his head. NO! He was no traitor. He defied the outrageous rules and mistreatment of the peons and Indians, and sometimes the caballeros, of the government. Yes, he conceded, he had defied the law and he had fought, on many occasions, soldiers of the King, but in his heart, Zorro, Diego de la Vega, was no traitor. He loved California and her people. And that is why he fought.

Many times, late at night, as his body ached, he had wondered why he continued the fight. Why he donned the mask and challenged Monastario and many others. Diego could have fought alongside his father, showed his true self, but he knew that was a futile road. Even with all the influence and power his father held, he could not sway the arm of the law. Many suffered then and many still suffer.

To openly challenge the government as a de la Vega would have brought ruin to his family. Alejandro and himself would have likely been arrested and then subsequently imprisoned, their land taken from them. With the anonymity of Zorro, Diego could fight for the people of Los Angeles with minimal risk to his father. If caught, Diego would plead his father's innocence.

Despite the risks he had taken, Zorro knew the choice he had made was right. Sometimes, in order to fight corruption within the law, one had to go outside of it. He did not resent his decision, but as the wind whistled past his ears, he wondered if his life as Zorro would soon come to an end.

Now, as a traitor, the reward would likely be doubled, if not more so. And the reward could now be collected whether he was alive or dead. There would be some that, despite Zorro's offer of help, would turn against him for the money such betrayal offered. The new reward, he was certain, would feed a family for some time.

Diego took another deep breath. But in reality, he was no worse off now than before. He was always a wanted man and the soldiers had always attempted to capture him; except now, Capitan Monastario had seen his face. The Commandante _knew _who the man behind the mask was and knew where to find him. Zorro still did not count his days numbered for the Commandante had not yet revealed his identity. Zorro was not sure of the man's motives, but for now, he would take what little hope there was to be found.

Zorro slowed Tornado as he neared the hiding place of his friend. He had decided that it was too dangerous for his friend to act as Zorro and as Ramirez emerged from the trees, Zorro waved him back into cover. "Stay hidden my friend. And change into your normal clothes as soon as possible, then ride home or to the pueblo, but by a different route. I will explain later."

Ramirez could see the worry on his friend's face. He merely nodded his consent and turned his mount toward the trees and their safety. Once hidden, he leapt off his horse and removed the mask and cloak, changing his shirt to a dark red one. He pulled his hat and a deep crimson sash from the saddle bags. He put his own hat on and wrapped the sash around his waist. He buried the clothes of Zorro so that if searched he would not have the material on his person. Ramirez knew he was not about to go home, so he gently nudged his horse forward. He crossed the road to the grass beyond; he would ride cross county to a smaller road a mile to the west. It was a longer way to travel, but he doubted he would come across any soldiers. Ramirez knew something had happened and he wanted to find Alejandro and the other Dons as quickly as possible.


End file.
